


that kind of voyage

by SunflowerSales



Series: that kind of voyage & related stories [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Female Uchiha Sasuke, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Rape Recovery, Uchiha Sasuke-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-18 12:02:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 17
Words: 117,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3568889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerSales/pseuds/SunflowerSales
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Itachi hadn't thought things through when he left his younger sister alone to fend for herself. Being an orphan is hard enough; being an orphaned little girl with no social skills makes for an easy target.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [in the light of breaking day](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3266039) by [KatRoma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatRoma/pseuds/KatRoma). 



> This story is really fucked up, and also really non-graphic. I actually got the idea for it a long time ago, but figured no one would read a genderswapped Sasuke because the character more commonly used for that trope is Naruto. But then "of pinwheels and paper daffodils" happened, and from it "Izanami in the Underworld," so I feel like I can pull this off maybe as a thing that might be read. 
> 
> Also, the story ignores a lot of Naruto's actual plot, because that would just be too much going on.

The first thing Sasuke’s aware of is the apple from the market lying on the dusty street, bright green with a bite taken out of it, collecting dirt. The second is the pain.

There’s someone over her, in her—a shadowy shape in the moonlight, grunting and wheezing, with a hand across her mouth to stop her from screaming. She thinks, _Itachi, help_. Then she remembers Itachi isn’t here to help anymore. _React_ , she tells herself instead, but she can’t muster up the action. She’s limp, barely present, and she’s been disappearing inside her head more often than not lately. It’s Itachi’s fault. It’s the Tsukuyomi he pushed into her, and burned into the back of her mind.

Somehow, the man manages to be more painful.

 _Blood_ , she realizes. She has has blood slicking at her legs, and spilling at the back of the dress her grandmother made her for her seventh birthday. It’s hand-stitched with delicate fabric. Mom helped her button up the back for school the day of the massacre. Now it’s ruined, torn and stained. Like this, the present slides back into place.

The third thing Sasuke’s aware of is a clearness to the world that wasn’t there before. In her panic, everything looks red, but she notices, then, the calluses and scars on the figure’s—on the man’s—hand fitting a shinobi, and a pouch near her left knee at his thigh. His hair’s brown, scruffy, and his skin tan, a patch of acne across his face. He’s young. She’s younger. It doesn’t matter. All she wants is him gone.

She turns her head, his grip of her loose enough to slid beneath his hand, and he swears, jerking back. This isn’t adrenaline or panic changing her vision, but the Sharingan, because she can see his chakra signature, exactly as Itachi described it. Without thinking, she knees him below the ribs, and bites into his hand hard enough to draw blood. He releases her in pain, and maybe fear, and she moves when he moves, twisting to get away. Before she can, his hands are on her again, dragging her back, one slotted over her mouth. When she jabs her elbow back, it’s ineffective, and then he has a kunai to her throat.

In the same moment, her fingers brush against the weapons’ pouch at his thigh. Though he says something, she doesn’t hear it, and catches her index finger on the circular hilt of another kunai, dragging it out. The Sharingan can’t see behind her, but she does have some awareness of where his chakra’s focused, coiling around major arteries and organs. By the time he notices his femoral artery’s been cut, the blood is already flowing down his leg, and against her side.

As he falls back, cursing and shouting, his kunai nicks against her collarbone. If he keeps this up, then the noise will attract others, and he’ll tell everyone this was her fault. She looks down at the weapon in her hand, slick with blood, and to the man putting pressure against his wound. It’s less of an informed decision and more an instinctive one when she throws it, hand shaking but precise enough, and the tip disappears into his neck. He quiets, twitches twice, and then stops moving.

That’s when her awareness of the pain returns, and she collapses to the ground as her Sharingan fades. His eyes, blue and dead and staring, watch the night sky, heavy with clouds. Some muted, faraway part of her remembers Itachi killed his first man at nine, too. Itachi, who—

 _I want Itachi_ , she thinks. _I want, I want, I want my brother, I_ —

It starts to rain, _pit-pat_ against her body. Drops slid into her eyes, more benign than tears. From the distance, a woman’s voice, light and airy, says, “I think it came from over here.”

Sasuke doesn’t have a family to help her, but she was the daughter of the police head, once, when she was safe; she knows what happens to people who kill others in dark alleys on Saturday nights. With this rain, her first stroke of good luck in years, her tracks and the blood won’t leave a trace. Ignoring the pain, she pulls herself to her feet, and makes a run for the chain-linked fence. A dog barks, near or far, and she shuts down her thoughts as she pulls herself over, rolling rather than landing on her feet when she reaches the other side. She’s close to home taking a shortcut largely avoided. As she runs, she stays to the shadow of the building wall, glad for her dark hair, and by the time she hears the shouts of surprise, she reaches the river.

Even if they track her this far, they can’t find her in the water, and the river goes three ways. Swimming isn’t her strongest skill, but she drives in, and goes with the current towards home.

 

 

By some miracle, no one finds her. It helps that the search isn’t wide, or long. People like _him_ , even ones with families, aren’t particularly cared about.

In the weeks that follow, Sasuke finds the news that she won’t be caught doesn’t allow her to breathe easier.

Her scores drop in written, participation, and cooperation, even as they improve in ninjutsu and taijutsu. After years of being the best of her class, and wanting to be the best, she should care. She doesn’t. More often than not, she falls asleep during her lessons. She’s taken to sleeping with the light on at home, but it doesn’t make a difference. It’s a stupid reaction to something she ultimately came out on top of, but in the Academy, no one’s going to leave her alone or hurt her. At home, she’s on her own. Sometimes she wakes in the middle of night, feeling a hand over her mouth and over her ribs, and the movement of someone inside her, and activates the Sharingan instinctively.

Sometimes she wakes, and smells blood. She thought that was a fear she shook a year ago.

The only consolation she has is that no one at the Academy notices. Ino and Sakura, the friends she avoided after the massacre, look over with concern occasionally, but that’s the extent. They don’t try anything. Neither do the instructors.

On a Tuesday in March, the day they have their quarterly scores returned, her instructor calls her over after class. Now that Sasuke doesn’t have parents, instructors can do this. “You’re sixth in your year, Sasuke,” the woman says. “I know you were hoping to jump a year now they’re all going co-ed in August, but if you don’t get back to your top spot, then it’s out of my hands. I’m sorry.”

Sasuke started to feel like maybe she wasn’t so weak, and that maybe she could grow stronger. Instead she was just reminded of her own uselessness. In a few months, she’ll be ten, the same age that Itachi became a chuunin. This never would’ve happened to him.

“Okay,” she says, looking from the scores to her instructor. The woman’s bangs are in her face, brownish yellow like old hay. “I’ll do better next time.”

Though she’s waiting for a proper address, Sasuke doesn’t offer one. Pretending to care about a class where she hasn’t learned anything all year is boring. With a smile that clashes with her eyes—black, but smoldering, like the end of a burning incense stick—her instructor says, “I hope you do. You really deserve the position.”

No, she doesn’t. She doesn’t deserve anything, because she hasn’t earned it. A better word would be owed. At the realization, she almost laughs. They think they _owe_ it to her, like being orphaned gives her some sort of privilege. All the man in the alley did was prove her the degree of her own worth, and how little it is. She’s not owed anything. If she gains anything, she’s going to earn it first.

Somehow, she manages to smiles back. “I’ll be fine,” she says. “Thank you for your consideration.”

With everyone else gone and turned to ash, she’s the heir to one of Konoha’s founding clans, and doesn’t feel as strongly about that as she should.

 

 

By the end of the year, Sasuke feels as though she’s half in a trance more days than not. Only two weeks into the merge of boys’ and girls’ class, she has a pamphlet on her desk with a number for a children’s therapist. _Early signs of depression_ is circled.

The moment she’s home, she tears the pamphlet she shreds, and throws the pieces into a fire. It catches, and the spine burns last.

 

 

In late October, the combined classes have co-ed spars with their opponents pulled from a hat. Before Sasuke’s fight with Uzumaki Naruto, Iruka-sensei pulls her aside. “I know you’ve developed the Sharingan,” he says, “and that you’ve must’ve practiced it quite a bit to do so many high level jutsu at your age. I don’t want to see it once during this, do you understand?”

Though Academy classes teach just the basics, shinobi on the streets casually use D-and-C-ranking jutsu more than is probably legal. Teaching herself is just a safety precaution. “I understand,” she says, and he nods. There’re dark smudges of exhaustion under his eyes, and his tiredness only makes the scar across his nose and cheeks more prominent. Lately, she’s been sleeping so much she must look well rested in comparison.

Naruto calls out, asking what’s taking so long. After going through the motions of showing each other respect, they prepare for a fight. This is going be easy, Sasuke assumes. She forgets about the accidentally skipped breakfast and dinner, and that she’s half his size. Like a stupid little girl, she forgets that in the only fight she’s ever had, she aimed to kill, and that isn’t allowed.

For a while, she has the upper hand. He’s too slow to land a hit on her, and she’s fast enough to connect punches and kicks several times. Then she misjudges a step, and he gets lucky. His foot tangles around her ankle, his hand latches to her shoulder, and as she falls, he smiles. It doesn’t matter he’s falling with her as long as he’s on top.

He’s over her, pinning her to the ground, with his eyes the same color as the sky. The scream she never had the chance to release before builds in her throat, and as his mouth begins to form words, it comes out. It’s messy, and panicked, and she loses awareness of anything but his eyes, and the weight over her. She struggles, and he gets off himself as someone else comes in, arms under hers, dragging her upward and away.

“Breathe,” a voice is saying, trapping her place. “Sasuke, breathe. Everyone else, clear out. Back to the classroom.”

The screaming had already stopped, but she falls back into the world at the mention of the classroom. She’s ten now, and an Academy student. All she was doing was sparring. There was an audience. Iruka-sensei’s the one holding her. Naruto was her opponent. Any semblance of normalcy she had was just dashed to pieces.

“I’m fine,” she says after a moment, calming. The panic’s fading to the same muted way she feels most things. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

Slowly, Iruka-sensei releases her, but holds out his arm before she can stand. They’re in the dirt of the sparring circle. “You’re a smart girl, Sasuke,” he says. “Honestly, you’re the smartest in the year—the surrounding few, even. I don’t like to pressure my students, but it is worrying you’ve dropped your scores. Now there’s this. Is there anything you want to talk about?”

Considering they’re in the middle of a lesson, this isn’t the time. “It’s nothing,” she says. “Maybe I’m just not as smart as you think I am.”

“There are people you can talk to,” he says, “if you’re not comfortable talking to me. At least think about it.”

As she stands anyway, she repeats, “It’s nothing. I promise.”

Though he doesn’t hide how little he believes her, he lets the subject lie for now. She’s relieved, because she the last thing she wants to deal with is this.

 

 

Sasuke becomes the object of teasing after her display in the yard, and it isn’t as terrible as she thought. Even if it’s annoying, it’s not so bad that she can’t pretend it isn’t happening.

Unfortunately, she’s not too immune to the humiliation of apologies. “I’m really, really sorry,” Uzumaki Naruto says a few days later when he catches her alone after another talk with Iruka-sensei after class. The dull hallway lights wash him out so his skin looks pasty and his hair bleached. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Honest.”

Winning is winning, and no one should ever apologize for doing so. It’s a lesson her father taught her years ago. “I know,” she says, adjusting her posture to stand straighter. He slouches, shoulders dropped. “Go away.”

“Can I, like, buy you ramen or something?” he says, sounding even more awkward than she would. “I sort of—”

She turns abruptly, narrowing her eyes. “Go away,” she says, more forcefully this time. “I don’t want _anything_ to do with you, understand?”

When he doesn’t answer, she turns again, and heads for home, taking the long, busy route the whole way.

 

 

Suddenly, Sasuke is twelve, and a month from graduating. Her class has a guest speakers on risks they need to be aware of as they enter the field for the first time, and she barely makes it to the washroom down the hall before throwing up. It’s been years, she tells herself. She shouldn’t care anymore. Then she thinks, _I want Itachi_.

It’s a thought that invades her sometimes, burrows inside all her safe, normal ones like a parasite and waits for her to find a way to burn it out. He killed their—her—family, but brothers are supposed to protect their little sisters. She wants to regress, go back and back, until she’s waking in tears, pinned only by her comforter, and Itachi’s there to hug it all better. Always Itachi, not Mom. Never Dad. Go back before her brother changed, back before the massacre, back before—

She spent a long time trying not to put a word in the alley, but she has it now, unavoidable. One in five kunoichi are raped in the duration of their career, the guest speaker said. Sasuke’s a statistic. Uchiha women aren’t meant to be statistics. They’re meant to stand out, distinguished. Mom and Dad were so ashamed of their daughter already. She doesn’t want to imagine what they would think of her now.

The door opens, and Uzumaki Naruto comes in, his orange shirt loud against the drab off white background of the tiled walls. “This is the girl’s room,” she says, and stands. The space is small. “Or did you just forget how to read?”

He’s quiet for a moment before saying, “Iruka-sensei sent me.”

“You? Seriously?”

“It’s just to see if you’re okay.”

For some reason, Naruto tries to talk to her a lot. It’s something she could do without. “I’m fine,” she says. “Just sick. You know.”

“No parent permission slip?” She nods. He hesitates. In the girl’s room, there’s no window, and the tension hangs around them, suspended. “Want me to bring you to the medic? She can sign you out.”

Even when she was younger, she never missed a day of school. “Yeah,” she says. “Now get out and give me a minute.”

She washes out her mouth once he’s gone. Though she’s never missed a day of school, she’s willing to do so now if it means she doesn’t need to sit through the rest of that lecture.

 

 

It’s a Thursday after school, two weeks before graduation, when Sasuke realizes she’s started to outgrow her clothes. Most of the allowance Konoha gives her just went to updating her weaponry, her own dulled after years of waking in the middle of the night and practicing shurikenjutsu until the sun rises, so she doesn’t have money to buy anything. Instead she finds the sewing kit her mother never used, and searches out something to wear.

Mom only owned dresses, something Sasuke’s avoided over the past few years, and even if she hadn’t, the thought of wearing a dead person’s clothes leaves her feeling dirtier than usual. Even if it isn’t the much better option, she goes instead to Itachi’s room, because he wasn’t much bigger than she is now when he was thirteen.

Unsurprisingly, everything’s dusted over, and creased to stiffness. This is the room she skips over while cleaning. It’s messy. It’s dusty. It’s the dust that makes her eyes water. She’s not going to analyze an emotional need to cry. Emotional isn’t something she can be considered these days. There has to be some secret to it, flicking on and off your ability to feel anything. If there is, she hasn’t learned it, but she wants to. She wants to burn the indifference out of her, and scatter the ashes in the river so the current takes it away. Reverse, up the stream like a salmon. Away from Konoha, and home.

Before class, she washes everything, and by the time she returns, most are finished drying from the strength of the Land of Fire’s August sun. She cuts away the high collars on the shirts first, because that style’s reserved for the men of her family. Then she folds the fabric down, and sews a new hem. She shakes her hand out when she pricks her finger, and gives up after the third try. By the second shirt, she’ll be better.

Her hands are both a bloody mess when she finishes, bandaged so she doesn’t bleed on the clothes, but the shirts are to a reasonable length with the collars removed, and the pants fall to her ankles or knees with the waist cinched in to fit. It’s far from perfect, but it’s good enough. No one will notice if they don’t look too closely. This works well, because few people look twice at her.

That works well, too, because the less attention she catches the better.

 

 

Sakura runs over as the day ends, the night day before the exam. “Me and Ino are setting up a study group with a bunch of people,” she says with a smile. “You should come, Sasuke-chan.”

Before the massacre, Sasuke occasionally spent time with Sakura and Ino when Itachi wasn’t around. After, Sasuke closed off from everyone. They haven’t spoken more than a few words to each other since. “Thanks,” she says, adjusting her hold on her school books, “but I study better on my own.”

“Are you,” Sakura starts, but cuts off when Iruka calls Sasuke over. “Oh. I guess I should let you go. But, if you change your mind, it’s at the picnic table area of the park. We’ll have snacks.”

“Right.”

As she walks away, Sakura’s face falls, and though Sasuke feels guilty, it’s not enough to go. “Yes, Iruka-sensei?”

He smiles at her. People have a tendency to do that. “You forgot your notebook,” he says, holding it out to her. Inside’s nearly blank. “Make sure to study hard tonight. But get enough sleep, too.”

Regardless of what her scores show, she finds written tests easy. There’s nothing in the Academy she’s been taught that she didn’t already know. It’s just that she doesn’t have the patience to go into the detail necessary for the opened ended questions.

Besides, no one will care about her year ranking once she’s a genin.

“I will,” she says as she accepts the notebook. “Thank you, Iruka-sensei.”

When she leaves, Sakura’s nowhere to be seen, or anyone else. Sasuke’s walk home passes in silence.

 

 

Sasuke didn’t study, and passed with the highest scores in the class. Two days later, she and Sakura are on the same team, and if the other girl is jealous, she’s good enough not to show it.

The name Hatake Kakashi is one Sasuke recognizes distantly from her childhood, the sort spoken behind closed doors. _You worked with my brother_ , she thinks as he introduces himself. Back then, she wasn’t aware of much if it didn’t involve Itachi. She wonders what her sensei will think of her, if she’s right. She wonders if she cares about his opinion at all.

No, she decides. She really doesn’t.

Since Sakura and Naruto made an effort to sit next to her, Sasuke sits in the middle, looking up at their masked sensei. Naruto smiles brightly when Kakashi-sensei tells him to introduce himself. She half pays attention, expecting his ramble on ramen, but is forced back into focus when he says, “I’m going to become the Hokage one day and make _everyone_ acknowledge me!”

The thought of Naruto becoming Hokage is laughable, but Sasuke’s saved from having to react when Kakashi-sensei turns to her. “I’m Uchiha Sasuke,” she says, straightening her posture. “I like…” Words fail her. It’s been awhile since she’s thought about her likes or dislikes, or dreams for the future. “I like tomatoes,” she says, settling with it, because if Naruto can get away with food, then so can she. “I don’t like, I don’t know. I walk a lot, I guess.”

After a short silence, Kakashi-sensei says, “And?”

“I don’t have an immediate goals for the future.”

“Really?” He raises an eyebrow. She frowns.

Five years ago, Itachi told her to gain the Mangekyo Sharingan herself and to avenge their clan. She’s woken up with her Sharingan activated calling his name too many times to know she could never do it. Weak little girls can’t fight someone like him.

The second silence grows stale from waiting. “Yeah,” she says. “Really.”

Though Kakashi-sensei’s gaze lingers on her a moment too long, he turns the attention to Sakura. Her likes are trivia books and friends, and her goal is a blush and flustered non-answered. According to a graduating Academy student’s handbook, teams are picked based on skill and personality compatibility. Even when she tries, Sasuke doesn’t see the connection in Team Seven.

Maybe it’s better that way. Just because she’ll need to learn to work with them doesn’t mean they need to be friends.

 

 

Within the first ten minutes of the bell test, both Sakura and Naruto corner Sasuke to work together. Her confusion lasts as long as it takes to see Sakura glare at Naruto, and realize this is pity. The last time either of them saw Sasuke fight she had a panic attack in the middle of class. They think she’s fragile. Iruka-sensei did, too.

This isn’t the way she wanted to start her career as a genin.

“There’re only two bells,” she says quietly, and then thinks of every team she’d ever seen. If genin teams are designed to have three members, there has to be a reason. Most of her childhood life was spent around jounin; she knows how easily they can say one thing, and mean another. “Fine,” she continues, the word settling heavily at the roof her mouth. Cooperation was always her lowest score. “Naruto, I saw your clones. Attack him head on. You need to be a distraction. Sakura, come from behind. I’ll use Naruto’s distraction to come from the front and do the rest.”

For the duration of their Academy career, she’s never seen her teammates so much as glance at each other, but they do now. “That, uh,” Naruto says, “sounds kind of dangerous.”

She presses her lips in a line. “What?” she says. “You’re scared?”

“No,” Sakura says, too quick to jump to a kid she doesn’t like’s defense. “You can’t make clones like he can. Isn’t attacking a jounin from the front a bad idea?”

“Just get the bells,” Sasuke says, because it takes too long to explain the Sharingan. With no one to practice against, she doesn’t know if she’s skilled with it or not, but the sight of it might shock Kakashi-sensei, at least. “Ready?”

Though neither of them seem happy, they agree. All unsmiling, they leap from the bushes, a dozen Naruto’s, and one Sakura in the blind spot of Kakashi-sensei’s covered eye. He destroys the clones quick enough, kicking Naruto back, but before he can go after Sakura, Sasuke jumps, kunai at the ready, letting the Sharingan bleed into her eyes. In a single moment, she sees Naruto struggling to stand, two visible chakra signatures swirling in reverse directions, and Sakura’s pink hair now saturated with red. Kakashi-sensei’s visible eye widens, and he’s reaching out, swinging him other hand backward to stop Sakura by knocking her on the forehead with his book. She rocks back, and crumbles, bells jingling from the fleeting contact with her fingertips.

In the same second, Sasuke learns she can’t change position well midair; he reaches past her face until his hand wraps around her upper arm. With a single tug, he brings her hard back to feet, rattling her bones, and twists one arm around her as he grabs the other, pressing her own kunai to her throat.

Something she hasn’t felt in years breaks inside her, and it’s like a recall of an old emotion, of feeling helpless from the last time she was in the position. Her heartbeat is fast, her chakra and blood sparking, her chest burning. Objectively, she knows what’s going on—it’s _just_ Kakashi-sensei, and she’s twelve-years-old, taking the genin the test, ready to become an adult—but everything around her slows anyway. She tenses, the movement causing the corner of the kunai to cut into her neck, and he abruptly lets go.

No one moves, and between the embarrassment, and leftover panic, and realization that she just ruined everyone’s chances, she doesn’t know what she’s feeling other than it’s something more than usual.

Then, though the alarm hasn’t gone off, Kakashi-sensei says, “We’re done for today. Sasuke, your eyes.”

She deactivates the Sharingan, and confusion joins the rest. Sakura, to his side, stares at Sasuke with wide green eyes. Crazy Uchiha Sasuke, with her mind split so cleanly open it might as well have been sororicide. After the massacre, the medical-nin thought she wasn’t going to wake, and she shocked them all. Her classmates never found out. That’s what she feels like now. Split clean.

“Getting the bells wasn’t the purpose of the exercise,” he says, drawing their attention away from her. “It was to see if you understood the value of teamwork. Being skilled individually, that’s good, but what makes a team great is their ability to work together. Sasuke created the plan, but the moment you saw she was caught, the two of you tried to help. That’s what you need—people who leave their teammates behind are the worst kind. I’ve never had a team before. Welcome to Team Seven.”

When she was little, extended family used to comment on how young Itachi was when he graduated, and then ask her how old she was as if they didn’t know. A passive-aggressive reminder she wasn’t good enough.

Itachi graduated at seven. He was a chuunin by ten. Now she’s twelve. Even as Naruto and Sakura cheer, Sasuke can’t find the pride she should feel. Suddenly, she reverts, and just feels tired.

“Do you need help with your neck, Sasuke?” Kakashi-sensei, close to indifferent but not unkindly. She wonders if her old Academy instructors told him anything about her. She wonders what there was to tell.

Pressing her hand to the shallow wound, she says, “I can handle it. I’ll see you in the morning, Kakashi-sensei.”

The goodbye is half hearted, but he lets her go. As if the world wants to remind her even the minor of accomplishments are meaningless, the clear sky covers itself with clouds. Then comes the rain, thick and heavy and warm. Aggravated, she kicks a rock, knocking it against a wooden fence, because it’s easier than screaming.

 

 

When Sasuke was younger, her understanding of friends was limited. She liked Ino and Sakura, and a few other girls that didn’t pass the secondary test to officially graduate, well enough, but the friendship was more obligatory. To make kunoichi lessons more bearable, she needed conversation. It also allowed for a good excuse to be away from the house when Itachi wasn’t home. Once he was, she didn’t want anything to do with anyone else.

After the massacre, she cut everyone out completely, too focused on the idea of killing her brother. Then she lost track of that, too, and there hasn’t been room for anyone in the blankness of her day to day.

This is makes the first few weeks of genin D-ranking missions hard. Being in the Academy was one thing, when she was surrounded but rarely had to interact; now she’s forcibly, actively engaging with a boy who fought for her attention for two years, and a girl who was once her friend. It doesn’t help that Kakashi-sensei watches her closer than her teammates. That’s all right, though. Iruka-sensei did the same thing for years, and never brought his concern to anyone. As long as the fact that she killed someone already stays secret, she doesn’t care what they think.

D-ranking missions really are boring, and by the end of the third time catching the Daimyo’s wife’s cat, Sasuke’s genuinely debating writing out a complaint form. “I want to write a complaint,” Sakura says, unknowingly agreeing, and frowns. “No, scratch that. I want to figure out if there’s a way to get an investigation of animal abuse. There’s no way that cat’s running away from the woman so many times without reason.”

Sasuke looks down at the scratches on her hand. They aren’t bad, but still an angry red, standing out in stark contrast against her pale skin. It makes her feel delicate, made of rice paper easy to break, not yellowed, but bleached by too many hours in the sun. One gust of wind, and she’ll fall right over.

Lately, she hasn’t felt steady.

“I don’t know,” she says, glancing back to Sakura. Naruto walks to her side, a little apart but like he wants to be closer, testing his boundaries. “She’s requested us personally twice. Maybe she has a thing for Kakashi-sensei.”

“ _How?_ ” Naruto says. “He hides most of his face.”

Laughing, giggling, inching towards friends, Sakura says, “It makes him mysterious.” Turning to Sasuke, she adds, “My mom asked me to go food shopping, and I know you probably do too. Want to come? It’ll be less boring.”

Now that Sasuke’s a genin, she doesn’t get the allowance from the village. Her family’s finances are frozen until she’s a chuunin, or sixteen. Food’s secondary; the first thing she needs is an updated wardrobe. “There’s something else I have to do,” she says. “Maybe next time. Naruto probably has to, though.”

Unsurprisingly, he does. Surprisingly, Sakura lets him come. Sasuke doesn’t understand friends, but as she watches them walk away, she thinks maybe she wants to.

 

 

The last time Sasuke was out of Konoha’s walls, it was her sixth birthday. Dad couldn’t come, but Mom and Shisui were there, and Sasuke spent most of the walk home on Itachi’s back. Now the trees are still big, but seem smaller. Somehow, the colors seem duller, too, as though last time she viewed the world through the Sharingan. The brightest thing now is Sakura’s hair, rocking behind her as she walks. Sasuke’s comes to her shoulders, and she never understood how the girls in her class could stand to wear theirs long.

Naruto’s running up and down the road, excited and not hiding it, as Sakura tries her hardest to rein him in. Kakashi-sensei barely casts them a glance, and focuses on Tazuna-san instead. With nothing else to do, Sasuke looks around, and observes. Observation’s what she’s good at in the past year or so; she stopped disappearing into her head so often, and with no one to talk to, it was just something to do. The Sharingan made it easier. There’s no better way to learn than to find a stranger doing something, and copy it. The learning pace at the Academy was boring. This was just quicker.

It’s also the reason she notices the puddle. Nowhere else shows evidence of recent rainfall, and this is close enough to Konoha that if it rained here, it would’ve rained at home, too. Then again, this is the time of year that it can rain for five minutes in one area, and be entirely dry with blue skies five miles away. Late September and early October is a messy few weeks for the Land of Fire. She could be overreacting. That isn’t uncommon.

Just to be safe, though, she walks to Kakashi-sensei, and tugs on his sleeve. He doesn’t pause in conversation, but still glances at her, and raises his eyebrow. She raises one of hers. A mutual agreement, then. They’ve both noticed.

When the puddle explodes a moment after, the droplets of water transforming into two men, Kakashi-sensei’s hand falls flat to her stomach, and pushes, throwing her backwards. The chains miss her by an inch, but wrap around him, and she activates her Sharingan in just enough time to see he isn’t really the one getting ripped apart. Unfortunately for Sakura and Naruto, they don’t have the advantage of eyes that can see chakra signatures, and she doesn’t have the means to tell them without alerting the enemy-nin. Kakashi-sensei better have a good reason for this, because faked or not, Sasuke’s not good at watching people die.

There’re two enemy-nin, and she, as the smallest, quickly becomes the next target. To her left, Naruto stands immobile, and Sakura, the perfect student, jumps in front of their client. Sasuke has just a moment, or less than that, to analyze the situation—the chain is attached to a metal device on his arm, aimed for her right, the other one is trying to come at her from the side, and the Sharingan allows her to differentiate colors, so she can see the difference between the liquid on his claw, and the actual metal. Poison. Though the chain is long distance, they’re relying on taijutsu. They reduced themselves to a puddle. She might not know what that’s called, but it sounds like the sort of thing a Kiri-nin would do. Fire, logically, is weak against water.

She reacts in her last opportunity, pulling a kunai from her pouch, and catching the chain on the tip rather than throwing it. Though her size means her strength isn’t the greatest, the enemy-nin’s momentum’s perfect, and he’s still midair. She pulls hard, and throws a shuriken to lodge at his knee with enough force to break the cap. Then she releases the kunai, letting it bounce uselessly off the trunk of a tree, but he collides solidly with his partner, whose poisoned claws slash his side.

Instead of that being the end of it, the partner leaves the first one injured on the ground, and darts for Sakura and Tazuna-san. As Sasuke goes to pursue, a hand closes around her ankle. She’s done with being pulled to the ground, though, and turns abruptly, kicking the enemy-nin in the throat. He gags, doesn’t let go, but makes eye contact.

He doesn’t stand a chance.

The scream’s hoarse, almost unheard, and she doesn’t know what she did, but it’s enough to get him to release his grip. By the time she turns around, Kakashi-sensei’s back, holding up the second by the waist, unconscious. “I’m sorry, Naruto, I didn’t expect you to freeze,” he says, as he gets about tying the first one up. “Sakura, good reaction time. Sasuke, that was quick thinking.” When Naruto, face tomato red, runs over to help her pick up the first to carry him over, Kakashi-sensei adds, “You can leave him, you two. These claws are poisoned. He took a direct hit.”

Again, Naruto pauses, and then glances at her, before turning his attention to Kakashi-sensei. “So he’s going to _die?_ ”

“I didn’t mean to,” Sasuke says, looking around at all of her team and Tazuna-san. “I really didn’t.”

She’d known, though, and she did it anyway. She’d killed a person before. Kunoichi kill. That’s reality.

From the look Kakashi-sensei gives her, she thinks he’s perfectly aware of her apathy, and doesn’t know if that’s good or bad.

 

 

Though Kakashi-sensei’s rendered useless from chakra burn out, he’s still able to move around enough to give a lesson. Sasuke copied how to walk up solid surfaces and over water off of some jounin years ago, because the walk home’s easier when she can cut across the river.

As Sakura’s told to guard Tazuna-san, since she got it on the first try, while Naruto practices, Sasuke expects to be, too. She isn’t. Kakashi-sensei said he wants to talk to her instead, which is never a pleasant way to start her day, and she can’t think of a good excuse to get out of following him for the ten minutes it takes to get to the deserted beach. No one’s around. Now that summer’s over by two months, all the adults are working, while students’re back at school. For civilians, school continues until they’re sixteen.

Wincing, he sits on the wooden steps of a snack bar with a sign on the door reading _Closed Until May_. “Sit,” he says, and warily, she joins him. The wood’s rough beneath her hands. “We’re probably going to have another fight in a few days,” he says, as though she hadn’t heard him at dinner. “The three of you did a good job against Zabuza, but you weren’t in control during the bell test, or the fight on the road. Will you be able to handle this one?”

The embarrassment from the bell test returns, because Naruto froze during the fight on the road, but she’s the one getting the talk. “I’m fine,” she says, the words meaningless and hollow after so many reuses. Itachi was an ANBU by this age; the least she can do is take care of a couple of missing-nin with her team. “I can handle it.”

“A behavioral assessment comes with each team, Sasuke,” he says. “Iruka noticed more than you think.”

She looks down at her knees, at the raised scar on her right from age six, when she tripped on a stone running after her brother. “It’s nothing,” she says, and doesn’t understand why she bothers to resist at all. Secrets never stay secrets for long, and it’s been three years. “I’ll be fine.”

“With the way you’re going now, you won’t be,” he says, more blunt than Iruka ever was. “You can’t fight as a kunoichi if you’re afraid of physical contact, and you didn’t have the reaction of a first kill. So what did cause you to kill someone before?”

Lie, she thinks, because it’s reflexive now, but when she goes to tell him she’s just desensitized, she says instead, “I just reacted. I didn’t want to get in trouble.”

Before she’s even aware she’s doing so, the story comes out in a patchy mess of what she can remember, spoken aloud for the first time, punctured by shock and tears. In the end, she dissolves, the back of her hands against her knees and eyes pressed to her palms as her shoulders shake.

“Sasuke,” Kakashi says when she’s done, quiet and soft rather than accusing and angry like she expects, “have you ever told this to anyone else?” She shakes her head, not moving her position, and he shifts next to her. When she peeks, he’s kneeling in front of her, crutch discarded. “You wouldn’t have gotten in trouble for defending yourself. What happened wasn’t your fault.”

“It feels like it is.”

“You were raped,” he says, and though she means not to, she flinches at the word. It’s the first she’s ever heard that, too. “That’s never going to be your fault.”

She turns her eyes back to her lap so she doesn’t have to look at him. “Are you going to tell anyone?” she asks, because this isn’t something she wants spread.

Kakashi hesitates before saying, “You went to the Academy well check-ups every year, right?” She nods. “All right. They would’ve figured out if there was anything wrong. No, I won’t. Not unless I have to. But, look, being a jounin sensei means more than just training you. Find me whenever you need me.”

When she suddenly leans forward and wraps her arms around his neck, she surprises herself, too. She hasn’t seeked out physical contact in years. He hugs back a moment later, and neither says anything.

It’s better this way.

 

 

Four days later, Zabuza attacks again with the boy at his side, and Sasuke, still embarrassed from her talk, feels as though she has something to prove. She doesn’t wait to activate her Sharingan when the boy attacks, and this is where he goes wrong.

Though he’s fast, she’s faster and has him on the defensive quickly as they clash kunai to needle. As he lifts his hand to perform a single sided seal, she twists, using her smaller size to her advantage, and kicks into his wrist. It’s with force enough to stop the hand seals, but he recovers almost instantaneously, grabbing at her ankle. She doesn’t give him the opportunity to throw her away; in the same moment, she reaches forward and up with the hand not occupied with her kunai, and punches him in the jaw.

He falls, but so does she, and they land sprawled together on the ground. The needle digs just into the inside of her elbow at the forearm, but she ignores the pain, and focuses instead on him. Blood spills from his hair, and across the stone bridge as he loses the grip on her ankle. Before he can recover again, she rips off his mask, revealing a face that doesn’t fit with his voice, and more importantly, wide open eyes. As he tries to move her off, she ruins his ability to finish whatever jutsu he was trying to create the only way she can think of, breaking two fingers on his left hand, and allows the Sharingan to do the rest. Or, at least, she tries.

She stops abruptly when Naruto appears in a puff of smoke, losing the concentration she needs to create a deep enough genjutsu. “Sasuke!” Sakura says, louder than Naruto, but Sasuke’s already several feet away on her side, bleeding from her shoulder and elbow and knee with a second needle stuck between her ribs.

“Get back!” she shouts as Naruto moves as though to help, because the boy’s forming the seals again with the opposite hand. She throws two shuriken as she gets to her feet, and though he dodges those two, he misses the third hidden in the shadow of the first.

A point stabs into his hand as he lifts two fingers from his palm, stuck into the skin. It’s still too late, and that must’ve been the final seal, because then there’re mirrors erupting around her. “You’re very good,” he says from the mirror to her left, “but in here, your speed is no match for mine.”

When the first volley of needles comes, she ducks, evading all five. In the mirrors his speed might be better, but he’s still no match for her eyes. Outside, Sakura yells for Naruto not to try and enter. Inside, Sasuke evades and tracks for a pattern, and after she finds one, takes aim with another shuriken. It connects with the boy’s knee, causing him to fall. The enclosing’s small, making it easy to cross as he stands and moves to fade back into the mirror. He’s only half in when she grips at the back of his yukata, and she’s not very strong, but she’s good enough to pull him back, away, and onto the ground.

He tries to stand again, and since she doesn’t know if being held in a genjutsu state can release her from this and she doesn’t want to kill anyone else on this mission, she parodies his own technique. Aiming for pressure points is more Hyuuga than Uchiha, and she can’t affect chakra, but it’s still effective for incapacitating an opponent. With two fingers, she hits at all the points he targets with his needles on his left side, and brings him to his knees.

“My eyes can do a lot more than track your movement,” she says, holding a kunai to his neck, forcing him to look at her. “Release us right now, or I swear, by the time I’m done with you, you won’t remember who you are.”

She doesn’t know if it’s a threat she can deliver on, but it’s the best she has. “If I release us both, I’ll simply help Zabuza-san against your sensei,” the boy says blankly, “and you’ll go after us both. Are you willing to die for your team, kunoichi?”

This is all the warning she gets before, from behind her, there’s a crack of ice breaking. “I’m supposed to be,” she answers, and the ceiling collapses over head.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team Kakashi takes the chuunin exams, and it's about what you'd expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, this took way to long. I promise updates will be quicker from now on. This also took a wildly different turn than I meant it to.

The broken mirrors didn’t come from Haku, Sasuke learns later. Maybe he was planning to do something similar, but the person who almost killed her was Naruto.

She doesn’t blame him. After, he dragged her out, and nearly killed Haku in the process, Kakashi-sensei said. It would’ve been nice to have some warning, though. As it is, she spends three days in bed recovering, one unconscious, and a returning walk with a shoulder still sore from dislocation. There’s a cut down her left forearm from a shard of ice that only barely avoided the vital veins that would’ve killed her before the battle ended. She has another curving around her hip bone, and scrape across the side of her right shin. The worst are her ribs. None are broken, but at least three are cracked, and more bruised. It’s been years since she was injured like this, if she’s ever been injured like this at all.

On the walk home, they’re all delicate with her, as though they think she’s about to break. She feels a bit like she is. That doesn’t mean she wants to be treated that way, though. If she had the energy to be, she might even be annoyed.

Kakashi-sensei doesn’t assign her a watch period during their night curled on the ground. Sleep comes easy to her, but she finds that isn’t the case here with her chest throbbing and the owls hooting in the branches above them. Instead she focuses her eyes to the sky, and watches for shapes to blot out the stars. It happens every once in a while. There’re nocturnal birds here, and bats. Their fire keeps any searching creatures away, but she hears them in the underbrush just outside the light’s circle. This close to Konoha there’s nothing bigger than a raccoon, but she remembers being little, past the walls with her mother and brother, and spying the fox by the river, head dipped down as it drank. Its fur was the color of rust. Itachi wouldn’t let her any closer.

As watch switches from Sakura, who was second, to Kakashi-sensei, the exhaustion finally sets in, and Sasuke drifts off. The last thing she’s aware of is the corner of her bedroll pulled up to cover her shoulders, and his hushed voice telling her it’s going to be all right.

 

 

“I want you to train me,” Sasuke says after her teammates leave on the first training day since they returned. Her concussion and broken bones were repaired within hours, but the rest need to heal naturally, and stitches pull uncomfortably at the wound on her forearm, hidden by bandages. “I want to stop feeling—scared.”

Maybe scared isn’t the right word, but she’s something. Blank sounds like the right word. More days than not, everything feels muted, or muffled. She’s too tired to feel much of anything. Admitting helped somehow, but it doesn’t make it easier.

Kakashi-sensei hesitates. “The Sharingan’s already allowing you to go at a faster pace than most genin,” he says. “You need to focus on teamwork right now. That’s your weak point.”

“There’s no point if I keep panicking every time I make physical contact,” she says. “It’s not like I could work on something in the Academy that I didn’t know what was going to happen. Please? I don’t want to make them save me because I can’t finish a fight.”

It’s what would’ve happened if the bell test had been a real fight, or if she didn’t already have one of the Demon Brothers prone on the ground. Adrenaline kept her focused during the fight with Haku, but that was the first time it helped instead of hindered. Even then, she was still seriously injured.

Sighing softly, Kakashi-sensei says, “I can’t make that disappear overnight.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t try.”

After a moment, he agrees. She tells herself she’s going to be fine, and knows it’s a lie.

 

What the others don’t understand is that Sasuke’s _good_. She’s a quick thinker, and fast on her feet, with a surprising amount of strength to back her up, and a learning curve allowed by the Sharingan that most people can only dream about. If she’d cared a little more, if she’d put more effort into her written tests, if she ever bothered to show anyone in the Academy that she knew what she was doing—well, she still probably would’ve graduated early. Before she was nine, she was the top of her class, and before she was nine, that was something that mattered. Then it abruptly stopped.

But no amount of indifference in the world can stop her from being just a little hurt at how shocked Kakashi-sensei looks that she masters the Chidori on the second try. As she has the Sharingan, it really shouldn’t be surprising at all.

He breathes out, long and quiet and not quite a sigh, and runs his fingers through his already messy hair. “All right,” he says, looking to the destroyed straw figure now scattered across the training field for a moment before turning to her. They’ve spent the past month on just her speed alone. “Sasuke,” he continues, “I need you to promise to only use this as a last resort.”

“I,” she starts, and pauses. “Okay?”

“This is an A-ranked jutsu,” he says, focusing intently enough on her to make her uncomfortable. “Your body isn’t equipped to handle the strain on your chakra when you haven’t been active in the field for six months. I thought we’d be easing you into it.”

She tries to be offended, and fails. Instead, she remembers standing on the docks, just seven, burning in the summer heat and from the fire in her lungs, her chakra flickering and fading after one successful attempt to please her parents. Remembers later, through the rice paper separating the hall from kitchen, listening to her father and brother argue in hushes voices hard with indignation.

There were shadows across the wall, darkening as the sun sunk beneath the trees outside, and her father was saying, “When you were her age,” and Itachi interrupted, for once, “She’s not me, and she’s never going to be.”

Looking at Kakashi-sensei now, with his visible eye so grey and blank it might be child’s pencil scribble, she thinks of her brother, and how she doesn’t want to. The effects of the Chidori set in abruptly, psychosomatically, and all she feels is tired. Exhaustion is an unwanted companion, but consistent, at least.

With a slight nod, she says, “Right, yeah, I understand.” Then, “But I have the Sharingan. Why wouldn’t I pick up on it fast?”

He frowns, the outline of his mouth visible through his mouth. “Even the Sharingan can’t instantaneously teach you how to use a nature transformation you aren’t affiliated with. Unless. Hm.”

When she was younger, her family never tested her on her affinity, and she recognizes the paper he pulls from his weapons’ pouch only from Academy textbooks. As a Uchiha, hers is fire, of course. It’s hereditary, like hair color, or bone structure, or a disease.

It should turn to ash, but crinkles instead, the noise loud against the silent backdrop of the public, empty training field. They’re quiet, standing together in the chilly November air, before she drops the paper. The wind carries it, blowing it gently across the dead brown grass towards the water. She watches it, and Kakashi-sensei does, too.

“Well,” he says as the wind stops, and it falls flat, hidden, “I guess it’s not that irresponsible after all.”

Her affinity is lightning. At seven, she mastered a fire technique in a week.

The realization of what that means is hilarious and horrifying all at once.

 

Sakura is made of sweet smiles, and a cloud of pink that covers her back, a bit like some otherworldly creature with hair stitched from flower petals picked in spring. Naruto is bright gold, more like a wheatfield in the sunlight than the sun itself, too earnest to ever burn anyone.

It’s simpler when Sasuke looks, and sees them only in small pieces at a time. Kakashi-sensei says teamwork is her weakness, and she should try to make friends, but it’s hard. People are hard. Most take you, and what you show them, at face value. Friends and overbearing instructors expect more from you than strangers. Sasuke wasn’t good at fulfilling expectations with her family. Though she makes the effort, she doubts she’s much better now.

They’re outside after a mission, walking to quiet back streets as Sakura complains about the shop owner who hired them, and Sasuke barely hears a word of it. She bites the side of her thumbnail and watches the ground where the fallen autumn leaves gather in quivering piles across the road. Over the past few years, she’s made an effort to avoid alleys and the lonelier side of town, and a nervousness she isn’t used to bubbles from her feet to her heart to her throat, affecting the speed of her pulse. With her teammates here, and with her level of skill even alone, nothing will ever happen to her again, but the knowledge of that doesn’t make her feel any calmer.

When her teammates stop walking, she doesn’t notice immediately, and just barely avoids colliding with Sakura’s back. A breeze ruffles her hair, and the jacket she’s wearing as protection against the cold doesn’t have the Haruno symbol stitched into the back. Sasuke’s clothes, bought at stores in town, don’t have the Uchiha symbol, either. Her mother sewed it on, once, and Sasuke’s own skills with a needle and thread don’t extend far enough to do that herself.

The commotion that caused her teammates to pause comes from beyond a high wooden fence, loud with the sound of children crying, and an older boy laughing. Sasuke stiffens, her muscles turning to ice, and she misses whatever Naruto says before he takes off, Sakura close at his heels. Unwilling, but knowing she doesn’t have much of a choice, Sasuke breathes deep the cold air, and follows.

In the alley between the fences, there’s a boy from Suna and a girl with hair like the terrain of her country, standing with three children Sasuke recognizes as the Hokage’s grandson and his friends. Naruto, always so tightly coiled with his own sense of righteousness, draws attention and trouble when he calls out, “Hey, you, let him go!”

The two friends pivot, tears in their eyes and fear across their small faces, as they run over, begging for help from strangers. Across the alley, the older boy shrugs as his teammate glances back and forth, her own discomfort just as clear. “Why should I?” he says. “Who’s going to stop me, you?”

Though it’s been years since Sasuke had to worry about exam dates, she remembers clear enough the summer when she was five and Shisui and Itachi came running through the front door, laughing with contracts in their hands that caused more worry than pride for her mother. Neither of her teammates are bad, but neither are great, either, and it’s better for everyone if they don’t have a back alley fight, so she compartmentalizes. Forces the irrational fear away for a time she can examine it alone, and steps past Naruto and Sakura and the children.

“That’s the Hokage’s grandson you’re holding,” she says, meeting his eyes, “not another contestant. Do you really think Konoha will let you participate in the exams for hurting a ten-year-old kid? That’s asking to have a conflict start between our villages.”

There’s a tense moment where no one moves, and the only sound is the children’s crying. Then the girl says, “Kankuro,” and her teammate drops the Hokage’s grandson to the ground. He lands on the leaves. Crinkles them like paper.

“Konohamaru,” Naruto says, stepping forward, too, “come here,” and the younger boy is already over to them by the time the Suna-nin reaches for the bandages on his back, pulling them aside.

“We should get out of here,” Sakura says, anger set heavy in her shoulders and on her tongue, as the girl Suna-nin tells the boy to stop. That’s when Sasuke feels the chakra signature behind them, awkward and painful and grating against her nerves.

She turns, picking up a rock cool and heavy in her hand as she does, and throws it so it flies right past Naruto’s shoulder. There’s a boy standing just beyond the children, hair the color of blood from a fatal wound and the kanji for love written across his forehead. A gourd rests over his back, and sand spews from the opening, the rock caught in it like a shield.

“Kankuro,” he says, letting the rock drop, and sand retreat. The air smells metallic, like a thunderstorm, like blood. “You’re a disgrace to our village.”

As his teammates stutter out their apologies, Sakura says, “Come on. Let’s get these three home,” and with their backs straight, Team Seven ushers the shaking children away.

Before Sasuke can turn the fence corner, and walk her way back to the crowded market street, the boy with the blood colored hair stops her. “You,” he says, “girl with the blue eyes. What’s your name?”

When she looks at people, she prefers to see them as a conglomeration of details, but people don’t often do it with her. Her eyes are so dark, they’re nearly black, so black is what people see, and she’s so surprised by the specification, she forgets to ignore him and keep walking.

The Suna-nin stand there, the youngest in the front, the two flanking him at the back, protective and afraid all at once. She crosses her arms, her momentarily flared confidence collapsing. “It’s rude to ask someone’s name,” she says, “and not introduce yourself first.”

“I’m Gaara,” he says, unblinking. “This is Kankuro and Temari.”

“Sasuke,” she answers. “This is Naruto and Sakura. Behave yourselves if you want to last till the exams.”

As they leave, the Suna-nin let them, and Naruto complains Sasuke never gives him the opportunity to look cool. Sakura, though, watches her evenly, ignorant of a smudge of dirt caught on her left cheek, and Sasuke pretends she doesn’t feel the eyes on her back.

 

Kakashi-sensei speaks to Sasuke separately the day he gives out the contract, waiting until the others are long out of earshot. “I gave you this because I think you have a pretty good chance of being promoted,” he says, hands in his pocket as he leans against the railing of the bridge, “but if you don’t think you can do this, you don’t have to.”

When Itachi was twelve, he was a jounin, an ANBU. Her sensei treats her like an old, worn toy one fall from breaking. “I can do it,” she says, pulling a pen from her pouch, and signing her name on the dotted line. _Sa_ written in the kanji “small,” and _suke_ written for “help.” Her parents were so certain they were having a second son they never bothered to think of a name for a daughter. “You really think I have a chance?”

“Yeah,” he says. A cold wind blows off the water, sinking through her thin jacket and into her skin. “The three of you are better at cooperating with each other. Just keep that up.”

“I’m trying.”

“I know.”

She looks past the contract down to the ground. Konoha’s faced a dry spell for the past few weeks, and the pale brown of the dirt reflects it. Itachi wasn't personable either, but still made a name for himself right until the point that he didn’t. Now he’s a ghost story and a cautionary lesson. All she has been since is her family name.

But she doesn’t want to think about her brother or her family. Doesn’t want to think about how she’ll always be the girl Uchiha Itachi left alive. Kakashi-sensei, drawing her attention back, says, “Sasuke, go get some sleep. I’ll be there to see you tomorrow before you leave.”

He touches her shoulder briefly in goodbye, and she doesn’t flinch away. “I’ll be there,” she says, more for herself than for him, and watches as he smiles beneath his mask.

 

The Academy lecture hall is filled with more people than there are seats, crammed tight together and separated from friends by a prearranged seating chart. Sasuke sits between a Tani-nin with dramatic eyebrows and a Iwa-nin with dark skin and hands scarred from slipping shuriken. Two rows in front and a seat over sits Sakura, and near the wall is Naruto, kept next to Hinata, whose cheeks heat in a blush.

Over the past three years, Sasuke hasn’t had much to do other than read and watch, and the questions are easy enough. As the founding family, the Uchiha clan has their own extensive library, inevitably, and girls without friends have time on their hands. Laziness kept her from concentrating long enough on a test question in the Academy to give thorough answers, but she needs to be detailed now. Next to her, the Tani-nin sucks his teeth, and the Iwa-nin’s pencil scratches in short strokes against the paper, but she can’t lose focus over that. In her peripheral vision, she sees Sakura’s posture change as she picks up her paper after she finishes, and Naruto grip at his hair, but she can’t let that affect her, either.

When Kankuro, the boy from the alley, returns and Ibiki-san calls a stop to the test, Sasuke’s hand is shaking, and she has one question left blank.

 

Every Konoha citizen, shinobi or otherwise, knows about the Forest of Death. It’s the one place in the village not even the bravest Academy student will enter on a dare, because no one sane wants a run in with the world’s largest centipedes. When Sasuke hears a five day survival in the forest is the second test, she’s not particularly surprised.

In the first half hour, she and her team find a safe place in an arch of a forsythia bush, and plan. “We should go after Team Eight,” she says, crouched low and hugging her knees. Naruto’s hair is the same shade as the flowers. “Kiba can track with a scent, sure, but he has to know we’re coming first I think to pay attention for us. Shino has the thing with the bugs, which is gross, but we can figure it out. And my eyes are stronger than Hinata’s. We’ve also all been watching them fight for years.”

“What if they have the same scroll?” Sakura asks as Naruto frowns. “I’m way faster than Ino now, so I can totally avoid her, and Chouji rolling up into a ball isn’t that intimidating. One of us just has to distract Shikamaru.”

“I can do it,” Naruto says, glancing to Sasuke, who was about to suggest herself. “I mean, if I use a bunch of clones, it’ll be harder for him to do the shadow thing, right?”

“Or I can get trapped head on and use the Sharingan,” she says, knowing Naruto can’t rely on clones for everything. “The time we saw him use it in class, Ai was able to change her facial expression just fine, which means he can’t affect everything. If his eyes are open even for a second, he leaves himself completely vulnerable to genjutsu.”

Instead of looking to her, now, he looks to Sakura, who looks back, prolonged. A moment of silent communication Sasuke’s left an outsider to. Then Sakura says, “Yeah, but he’s our old classmate. Doesn’t that seem kind of mean?”

Sasuke scrutinizes Sakura’s blank expression, and Naruto’s teeth sunk into his bottom lip. “Oh,” Sasuke says, because teamwork is important, and an agreement seems the better option here than argument, “yeah. I guess you’re right. How much food and water do we have between us?”

Collectively, they have enough to last two days. Each has a spare change of clothes, and their own set of weapons. Though no one has a map, the Forest of Death is part of Konoha, and navigating it follows the same principles as navigating anywhere else in the Land of Fire. Above them, through the slits in the branches of the forsythia bush and the slits in the branches of the high trees, the sun slinks towards the horizon, and turns the light soft and pink and sad.

 

Sasuke is seven, and the shadows are darkened by corpses. Their dead eyes catch the light, reflecting dimly. Itachi’s armor is a startling white in contrast, and his eyes a purer red than pooling blood. It seeps into the dirt, through the cracks between the cobblestones. It rolls from her cheek in lines. The night is sharp and light, even the shadows a brighter sort of darkness, his tears clear instead of red.

This is how she’s going to die, at age seven as the youngest member and only daughter of the Uchiha clan, quivering under the intensity of her own brother’s _intent_ to kill her. Or, no, she isn’t going to die here, because _he lets her go_ , and then there’s an apple on the ground with a bite taken out of it, and she’s going to die here instead with blood between her legs, at her shoulder, killed by a boy screaming from the pain of his own blade buried into his skin, and _she wants her brother to save_ —

A girl is screaming. Her voice is made of flower petals in the wind, substantial but loose and fleeting. Sasuke is twelve now, not nine or seven, and the only person she has to save her and her team is herself.

With awkward, uncooperative limbs, she pulls a kunai from her pouch and slices her arm. The man, with his skin catching the moonlight thinly, is moving for Sakura. Naruto’s nowhere to be found. Terrified but already calculating strategies and their potential outcomes, Sasuke throws her kunai in line with the man’s face, distracting him long enough to dart low, and pull Sakura by the waist out of the way.

“Get Naruto and catch up,” Sasuke says, cutting her teammate’s shoulder, and leaving her there without looking back.

The man’s face is colorless and gaunt, too like the corpses she found the night she was left behind, but his eyes ruin the effect. They glitter gold and slit and dangerous. He’s a corpse and snake all at once, and when she takes off at run opposite of Sakura, he follows with the fabric of his loose pants whispering through the grass.

Whoever he is, he isn’t a contestant, and he isn’t a genin. Though she’s never seen him before, he called her Sasuke, and she doubts some of her old classmates even know her given name. He’s here for her, specifically, for a reason she can’t think of on her own. She’s prey in the literal sense, and never had wanted to know what it felt like to be hunted.

Too quickly, he catches her, not just near enough to grab, but from the front, so close she can see the crow’s feet creasing at the corners of his eyes. She jumps back and up as his jaw drops to an unnatural length, but his hand reaches out with the speed of an attacking snake, catching her by the ankle and slamming her to the ground. Then he’s over her, pinning her there with an air of annoyance, and a renewal of fear rips the air from her throat until she forgets to breathe.

Sasuke is seven, waking dazed and alone and in pain in a puddle of her parents’ blood—or, no, she’s nine, and a boy’s hand is over—no, she’s _twelve_ , and—

When she was little, her father said all Uchiha are born with fire in the lungs to breathe it, but Sasuke was born wrong with lightning humming under her skin instead. It’s odd, instinctive thing, when he opens his mouth again, bearing for her neck, and her body reacts on its own.

Lightning explodes from her, sinking into the ground and shooting into the air, singing with the cries of a thousand birds. He’s thrown off, corpse skin burned black, and hair standing on end, as she scrambles to her feet, fresh kunai at the ready. Her body continues to crackle and spark, the small clearing suddenly charged with electricity that laces down into the metal. She throws it with her regular speed, still faster than most, and though he catches it, it doesn’t matter; it’s still brimming with lightning, which shoots straight through the nerves on his arm.

This is the best the disappointment of a daughter that she is can do, and she collapses to the ground just as the clones come in a wave from over the bushes. “Get out of here!” she says, shaking on her elbows, as far as she can forcibly support herself. She tries to sit, or maybe even stand, but then Sakura is there, arms around her, holding her up. “No, run, he’s going to kill you, Sakura—”

The man is gone without warning, leaving Naruto’s clones to fall together into a pile, but Sasuke still feels caught in her own head as he comes to crouch beside her, too. They’re both covered in blood and something thicker and redder than that, and she jumps when Sakura places a hand over her eyes. “Calm down,” she says, breathing steady, and steadying Sasuke’s breathing in turn. “He’s not here anymore, so just make your eyes go back to normal, and we can leave.”

Though nothing’s making much sense, she manages a nod, and to deactivate her Sharingan. Sakura takes her hand away, but leaves her arms around Sasuke’s waist, dragging her up. Pain shoots up her back and through her head, and Naruto says, “Oh, shit, you’re bleeding,” as he takes one of her arms and pulls it over his shoulders. Sakura does the same with the other arm, leaving Sasuke supported between the two.

“We should attack the first team we see,” she says, aware for the first time of the blood slipping from her hairline, and more from her shoulder blade and ankle. “What’s wrong with my hand?”

“Your wrist is broken,” he says as they guide her along, away. She feels nervous and relieved and scared and just on the edge of tears, more at once than she has in years. “Sakura did something to her shoulder when the snake thing attacked. That’s what took so long. But hey, the guy ran away when he saw he was outnumbered, right? Maybe he heard about how awesome we were in the Land of Waves.”

Running had little to do with being outnumbered. The man could have killed her, if he wanted. What he did was toy with her, as though prolonging the fight was just for entertainment. Someone who felt like that could have killed them all before she had the opportunity to cut her hand. For him to leave, something else must’ve caught his attention, and a quick scan through their surroundings with her Sharingan reactivated reveals a small camera hidden in the knot of a tree.

Hopefully whichever jounin they send can keep him occupied, she thinks, because she’s not ready to face him again.

 

Around dawn, when the sky is just beginning to lighten but the sun has yet rise, Team Seven stops long enough to tend to each other’s injuries. The wound at Sakura’s shoulder is clean of dirt and stitched, and Sasuke’s wrist splinted, but they don’t get the chance to also stitch her cuts before the Oto-nin attack.

“Hey, Uchiha,” the one wound in bandages says, “come with us, and we’ll let—”

“It’s Sasuke,” she says, voice barbed with unfamiliar frustration, “and I can do a lot worse than kill you. Leave.”

Sakura sits stationary at her side, needle and thread in hand, but Naruto springs to his feet quick as a wind up toy. “Yeah,” he says. “You better get out of here, or you’ll regret it.”

The girl smiles, toothed with her eyes hard, and the second boy laughs. As the bandages on the first boy’s face split, his mouth forming the word “no,” Sasuke dashes beneath and behind him, behind the second, where she kicks out the back of his knee, and drives her last kunai into the brace in his arm. Though she doesn’t know what it does, she knows it can’t be there for a fashion statement alone, and it’s safer to take care of it now. It breaks with a screech instead of a crack as he cries out, and leaves him kneeling in the dirt, clutching his arm, her kunai to his throat. Her own damaged arm she  holds close to her side, useless.

As she looks up, the girl subdues a struggling Sakura into a similar hold, and Naruto’s knocked back by an unconnected attack from the boy in the bandages. “Kill one of us,” the girl says, “and I kill this sad excuse for a kunoichi. What have you been doing instead of training, treating your hair?”

“One last chance,” says the bandaged boy. “Your teammates can still make it out of this alive.”

With the Sharingan, Sasuke can see more than anyone else in the clearing, and she watches as Sakura’s hand twitches for her weapons’ pouch, and Naruto begins to recover earlier than expected. Even with Sasuke’s chakra severely depleted and her wrist broken, the Oto-nin seem to perceive her enough of a threat to use her teammates as leverage rather than kill them outright, but she doubts the girl will hesitate to cut Sakura’s throat if she sees her moving. Sasuke’s heart beat jumps at that, and she feels as though someone trickled ice water down her back—it takes a moment to recognize the feeling as desperation.

“When your leader finds you,” she says, capturing the attention of the Oto-nin, both frowning in confusion as the Sharingan begins to spin, “make sure he knows I _did_ warn you first.”

She turns the kunai away from the second boy’s neck, but when he tries to lurch forward, she tangles her fingers in his hair, pulling his head back so he can look her in the eye. With his teammates distracted, it gives hers the time to do as they like; Sakura cuts away the girl Oto-nin by her hair before ducking under her arm and rolling away, and Naruto tackles the bandaged boy from behind. Sasuke misses part of the resulting fight as she strips the twitching Oto-nin on the ground of weapons, replenishing her own supply. It’s not until she looks up, and realizes she can’t see the movement of chakra inside bodies, or that the Sakura the girl attacked was actually a piece of wood, that she notices the Sharingan deactivated of its own accord. Then her vision blurs, colors blending, dimming. She pushes herself to her feet, but her legs give out on her, and she falls back to one knee.

Naruto, or one of his clones, lands next to her with a skid and thump, kicking up a cloud of dust and grass. She’s lightheaded from exhaustion, but she’s been training herself to the point of fainting long before the massacre. Ignoring Naruto’s “Hey, wait!” she uses the nearby tree to stand, and looks up to see her teammates and the Oto-nin too evenly matched to determine a winner. The sun’s above the trees now, lightning the clearing, and and the blood splashed across the ground is as red as her eyes. Her team is stronger, but they aren’t aiming to kill while the others are, making this fight last longer than it should.

The bandaged boy’s back is turned, punching out and destroying another clone with a sound wave that leaves Sasuke dizzy from feet away. Sakura, across the clearing, throws herself at her opponent from above, falling into an attack and not flinching away. She fights like a child, flailing and determined, teeth sunk into the girl’s arm, her single kunai dug into the hand brought up to stop her. If Sasuke tries to stop the girl, then she’ll hurt Sakura, too, so with the last of her energy, and the last of her chakra, she reactivates her Sharingan, and makes the bandaged boy her target instead.

In a moment where neither he nor Naruto are moving to attack, she throws herself between the two of them, eye to the eye with the boy, leaving him unprepared. She recalls the fear she felt just hours earlier, encountering the man with the eyes of a snake, and forces him to feel an intensified version. When he falls heavy to a pile of soft brown leaves, screaming, his teammate jerks towards her. Sakura digs in the kunai not just into her hand, but through it, and with a shout of her own, the girl says, “Take our scroll and leave us alone! Just leave us alone.”

Again, Sasuke’s Sharingan flickers out, and then she falls, too. There’s relief, and satisfaction, and terror swirling inside her all together, and she passes out to the feeling of someone rolling her up into their arms.

 

When she wakes, she’s in a hospital cot with Kakashi-sensei asleep at her side. Sunlight shines through the open window, cold but illuminating. He stirs as she groans in pain, her body aching and unwilling to move, and says, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I’ve never seen chakra burn out on a genin this bad before.”

Dust hangs still around them, turned gold by the light. “Sakura,” she says, words bubbling out of her, worrying sitting heavy on her chest. “Naruto—are they?”

“Sakura had a concussion coming in,” he says, “but the two of them are fine. They’ve explained what happened.”

The ceiling is wooden, painted white, and she turns her head again to look outside the window. Outlined by the fading sun is the Hokage’s monument. “Were we kicked out the tournament?” she asks rather than acknowledge what he said. The worry is still there, and anxiety, too. Persistent. Invasive. There’s something wrong with her.

“No,” he says. “It’s just easier to treat you out in the village. Sasuke, you’re going to need to talk to the Hokage about happened. Naruto and Sakura gave what information they could, but they couldn’t give everything.”

She nods, and he stands, the chair legs squeaking against the tile floor. After he leaves, a medical-nin enters, her black hair tied back with short strands falling from the holder and brushing against her neck. When the emergency, on staff medical-nin in the Forest of Death transferred Sasuke in this morning, she learns, she had a broken wrist, a sprained ankle, and a number of lacerations that required stitches. Though those were easily healed, there wasn’t much anyone could do for the chakra exhaustion.

The medical examination doesn’t take long, and it ends as the Sandaime enters. The light falls across his face, catching on his wrinkles, and making the red threading on his robes shine. With a kind smile she remembers from childhood, from another hospital room and another visit for answers, he asks, “May I sit, Sasuke?”

Even if she says no, he will anyway, so she answers with a nod, and he occupies Kakashi-sensei’s chair at her bedside. He smells of ink, and looks ancient, the weight of the village’s survival bending his spine.

“The man you fought,” he says after a moment, “is called Orochimaru. Ah, I see you recognize the name.” Her eyebrows raise in surprise, because everyone knows the story of the legendary sannin, and she just fought one and lived. “Then you should understand why it’s so troubling that he’s returned to target a genin.”

Until Itachi killed their family and disappeared into the night, Orochimaru was the horror story mothers told their children about to keep them from wandering out alone. She says, “Yes,” before adding, “Hokage-sama. Did he attack anyone else?”

He shakes his head slowly, and the shadows disappear his face into a hundred wrinkles. “It’s troubling,” he says again. “Your teammates gave their accounts. They said there were a few minutes where you were alone. Did he say anything to you?”

“No,” she answers. “But he didn’t really need to. The only reason someone would be after me is because I have the Sharingan. I’m the last easy target.”

“Not so easy, it would seem,” he says, unsmiling and without humor. “We have good reason to believe he might try to attack you again, or send another team to do it for him, as he did in the forest. Precautions have been made, but you must remain on your guard.”

“I will,” she says, and digs her nails into her palm.

He sighs, long and whistling through his teeth. “Get some rest, child,” he says as he stands. “You’re soon going to need what strength you have. There’s a guard for now outside the door to keep you from harm.”

With that cryptic message, he exits, and Kakashi-sensei reenters, reclaiming his seat. As she settles into the sheets, too tired to stay awake, she feels safer than she has in a long time.

 

Two days later, Sasuke can hardly stand when the announcer calls her first to fight in the preliminaries. Her opponent is another Konoha-nin who must be around Itachi’s age, which means either he’s pathetic, or here for a reason.

The referee calls for the match’s start, and the other genin charges at her without delay. She doesn’t want to risk him grabbing her the way Orochimaru did in the forest, so she waits until her opponent is close enough, and rather than jump up as she normally would, she drops to the ground. Using her hands to support her weight is a strain, but manageable, and she sweeps him off balance at the knee with one leg before kicking up with the other as he teeters forward, landing her heel squarely against his chin. It happens quickly, and when he lands on his back against the tiles, she’s on him in a moment. Her knee digs into his solar plexus, winding him, but she jumps off before he can get a grip on her. Given her current state, she doesn’t think she’ll be able to handle a direct hit of any kind.

As she lands, his stands, and his forehead protector slides from his head with a clatter that causes a jolt of recognition she doesn’t have time to analyze. He lifts his hands to begin forming a seal, and she doesn’t waste time attempting anything that involves chakra as she reaches into her weapons’ pouches, and throws herself into the familiar movements the Uchiha shurikenjutsu.

He’s pinned to the ground and bloodied when she’s finished, but conscious, and staring at her with wide eyes. Above them and around them, the audience is silent. She holds her last shuriken in her hand, tense and poised to strike if he tries anything. Though he hadn’t landed a hit on her, she’s not in a much better state than he is.

There’s a moment where no one moves, and they stare at each other, waiting for him to decide. Then he calls out, “I forfeit,” and a team of medical-nin are there, pulling him from the ground.

She looks up, and finds only her team grinning. The rest of her old classmates seem shocked, and maybe a little scared. Most of the jounin’s faces have gone white. Though she should, she doesn’t allow herself to analyze what that could mean yet, either.

 

During the month break between the second and third tests, Sasuke works herself to exhaustion just to force herself to sleep at night.

“You’ve increased your reserves substantially,” Kakashi-sensei says a couple weeks in when he comes by her home’s training yard uninvited for the fifth time. Though he offered to help, she rejected him, and he’s been spending the past few weeks training Sakura, who hadn’t passed, instead. “Pushing yourself like this is more detrimental than anything else by this point.”

It’s just past five, and Sasuke has a headache throbbing dully at her temple. Her loose shirt clings tight to her body from sweat, her bangs stick to her skin, and her hair fell from its holder hours ago. Shrugging, she sips her coffee, and says, “My opponent’s like Naruto. Two chakra signatures. If that means he has the same endless amount Naruto does, then I have to finish the fight fast enough that his stamina won’t let him win and crush me, right?”

Kakashi-sensei looks at her oddly, or as oddly as one can with only a sliver of his face showing. It’s December, and dark already, moon low in the sky but rising. “You’ll be fine,” he says. “Sand is earth, and earth is weak against lightning.”

“This sand isn’t normal.”

“And it’s not why you’re pushing yourself.”

Again, she shrugs. Something inside her broke during the fight with Orochimaru, and for a while, she felt so much at once she though she couldn’t handle it. Now those feelings come and go, interspersed with familiar apathy. It’s simpler to feel little to nothing. Better. And disappears after the sun goes down.

Though maybe she should be, she isn’t frightened by the sand, or her opponent’s double chakra signature. “I’ll take a break tomorrow,” she says, and finishes her coffee. A cloud passes over the moon, leaving it murky and shapeless, surrounded by sharply defined, silver stars.

She’s not afraid of any opponent in the third test, or even the nightmares that keep her awake at night. Kakashi-sensei knows this, and hasn’t allowed her to bow out of a conversation since the morning she told him more than she intended. He says, “Sasuke, you can’t beat Gaara with taijutsu. Overexerting yourself isn’t helping anyone.”

“After what happened to Lee,” she says, “I wasn’t going to try.” Then, shifting her weight, she asks, “Do I look like my brother?”

He’s silent for a long moment, looking down at her with his one visible eye until she grows uncomfortable. “Yes,” he says finally. “Especially when you fight.”

The shurikenjutsu she used in the preliminaries was Itachi’s first. She needs a technique to wholeheartedly call her own, so the audience at the third test won’t look at her, and see her brother instead.

“I’ll take a break tomorrow,” she says again. “Don’t be late for the test, yeah? Naruto might kill you if you are.”

Years ago, she learned she would never be as skilled as brother, but that doesn’t mean she needs to accept a role as a secondhand version of him, either.

 

Naruto wins against Hyuga Neji in the first fight of the third test, but the twitters of cheers and surprise end when Sasuke and Gaara take their places opposite each other in the arena. The dirt is riddled with craters, and stained with blood from the last fight, and the sun barely peeks over the high walls. From the front row above them, Naruto and Sakura grin down at her, and the rest watch with a charged anticipation. Though the December air is cold, the sunshine is clear and unobstructed.

“Start,” the referee says, and jumps away before either of them attack.

Neither do. They watch and wait, breathing small clouds of steam into the wind. Then she slides into position, and the sand lashes from the gourd.

She dashes to the side, electrifying the flow of chakra into her arm and through her hand. When he sends a wave down over her, she rolls under it and in close quarters from him, releasing a bolt of light from her fingertips towards his heart. It’s too quick for the outer shield of sand, but crashes and cracks an inner one, leaving Gaara to rock backwards. A second wave comes towards her, but she jumps, using the solid shelf it creates as a springboard to gain greater height so the sand misses her by inches. The electrified, normal weapons she sends from the point directly above him are again fast enough to collide with his body, but not enough to damage him.

As she lands, she throws another few shuriken spinning in a line, sparking blue, so the lightning crackling around them bursts the sand rushing towards her. They connect with his chest, where the shield shatters and crumbles, and doesn’t repair immediately. At the start, he was grinning, victorious already and frosted with bloodlust, but it’s gone down, replaced by a scowl. She takes in every breaking part of the inner shield, any potential weakness, and runs.

There’s sand aimed for her, but she ignores it, weaving around it, the Sharingan tracking any attack long before it reaches her. Lightning shocks between her fingers, and when she’s close enough to throw a punch, she shoots a concentrated bolt to a reforming crack in his chest.

The lightning finds its mark before expanding, racing across and through the inner shield in shimmering, jumping jolts of brilliant blue. He screams with a sound more pained than any she’s ever heard as the sand explodes, throwing her backwards until she skids to her feet on the other end of the arena. When she looks up, she finds him on his hands and knees in the dirt, dripping blood and gripping his eye, gourd sliding from his back. The three count is reached before he stands, and the referee says, “Winner, Uchiha Sasuke!”

Even when the crowd erupts into applause, she doesn’t back down, or deactivate her Sharingan. Instead, she reads Gaara’s lips as he says over and over, “Mother, Mother,” and the second chakra reserve she hadn’t understood flares red and grows, swirling to fill his body and the gourd. It’s a separate entity living inside him, she realizes, and thinks, _This is a set up_.

She looks to the jounin referee, his mouth already moving to ask a question, and as she says, “Get everyone out,” the audience all simultaneously fall from their seats, asleep. In the same second, the hand over Gaara’s eye bulges into a paw, half his face turns into a creature’s, and his scream transitions into a growl that shivers the ground.

His footsteps fracture the dirt when he takes off, evolving form bursting through the arena wall, and into the forest. With one nod from the referee, she follows, pulling herself through the debris of the arena and into the destroyed trees. The trail quickly shows him moving in a slanted line towards the residential section, which only increases her urgency. But she’s a Konoha native with these woods her playground since the time she could walk, and she doesn’t need to follow his tracks to catch up with him.

When she reaches her destination minutes later, she cuts him off, his body still changing into this other creature. “Hey, Gaara!” she says from her place high in the tree, voice carried in the wind. There’s a line of destroyed forest in the direction he came, a single corridor of felled trees. “Hey, you!”

He halts, uncoordinated, knocking into a tree nearby so its leafless branches shake and shutter. Over the month break, she built up her chakra reserves to allow her three concentrated lightning attacks in a day, and when he opens his mouth, she uses her final one. It cuts through the sand, and finds its mark down his throat.

As he falls to the side, unchanged and gasping, Sakura appears on the branch beside Sasuke. “You beat him?” Sakura says, breathless, as Temari comes to crouch next to her brother. “Naruto, Shikamaru, and Shino are—what’s she doing?”

With the Sharingan, Sasuke sees what Sakura doesn’t, and what Temari understands as Gaara’s sister. His chakra isn’t flickering the way it should be after an attack like that, but expanding still, wriggling inside him like an animal trapped in a cage too small. “Get down,” Sasuke says, already ducking herself, as the chakra solidifies itself into the shape of a raccoon, but Sakura isn’t fast enough. Gaara transforms completely, the sand launches in large pelts in aimless directions, and then she’s pinned to the trunk of the tree with a shout of pain.

In Sasuke’s moment of distraction, a clump from a second volley clips her on the side, cracking her ribs and leaving a scrape bleeding through her torn shirt. She looses her balances, falling backwards, and catches the branch with her hands.

Then two things happen at once—Naruto arrives above her, and she comes face to face with Gaara’s new form. He’s a raccoon, and his eyes have pupils shaped like a drawing of a star. It’s an almost suicidal idea when she thinks that if ninjutsu and taijutsu are ineffective, then maybe she has a chance with genjutsu to save Sakura, at the very least.

He has a hand raised, claws out, and sand poised to strike, but he’s frozen where he stands. Though she feels the branch shake from the force of Sakura falling, and of Naruto climbing down carefully beside her, it’s only vaguely. Now, with the raccoon's star-filled eyes glazed over, following without any indication he’s going to break the genjutsu as she drops to the branch below, she can’t allow herself the luxury of split attention. Her heart beats steadily behind her damaged ribs, so strongly she feels it rumble through her like one of his growls. For once in her life, she has some measure of control over a situation. This is someone, something, brutal enough to tear through walls and trees and the residential area of Konoha, most likely, and she just brought him to a halt with a look.

It ends when something else large appears behind her, rocking the ground and the tree. Her concentration breaks. Gaara shakes his animal head, coming back to himself. With a speed greater than an human’s, he lashes out. Though she leaps back, his claws still catch her stomach and leg, and then she’s falling with all the uselessness of a broken a bird to the uprooted earth below.

Instead of dying from the fall, a large, thin fingered hand catches her, and lowers her slowly. “Stop hurting my friends!” Naruto says, and when she looks up, she sees the frog that saved her turn into a fox with nine tails as her teammate’s body outlines itself in red.

Whatever Gaara is, Naruto is too, and as she watches the two of them clash fox and raccoon, Sasuke thinks she and her teammate were put together for more reasons than what was given.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasuke and Sakura are incredibly intelligent dorks, and Itachi probably knows more than he lets on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I add a ship? The story's coming out different than I meant originally, and I think it could work.

Less than a week after Sasuke was admitted to the hospital, and two days after the Hokage’s funeral, she wakes to noontime light seeping through her bedroom’s open curtains. She came home the day before, and fell asleep before dusk had even changed to night, only pausing long enough to strip to her under clothes. Though she doesn’t want to pull herself out of bed, and the comfort of the quilt, she knows she has to, if just to turn on the heat. The floorboards are ice beneath her bare feet, her clothes still crumpled on the floor, and it takes so long for the water in the mornings to heat that her shower ends up being cold, too. Most of what little food she had in the kitchen before the exams has gone bad, and by the time she’s showered and dressed with the morning coffee drunk and spoilt vegetables dragged out to the communal bins down the road from the compound, it’s already two. As she stands just inside the entrance way, staring blankly at the sprawling empty buildings she calls home, she very badly wants to sleep again, and thinks she probably shouldn’t.

Leaving her property is out of the question today, regardless of whether she crawls back into bed or not, so she decides instead to read up in her clan’s literature on what happened in the woods. What she did scared her when she slowed down enough to think about it, and she feels as though she owes to herself to get answers.

It’s nearing midnight when she finds not what she was looking for, but something just as interesting. Her family history long predates the construction of Konoha’s walls, and it’s too complex to explain to a little girl in seven years. Though Hyuga Hinata can probably explain her own clan history like an Academy lecture, Sasuke learned most of what she knows from the books in the library, not from her parents. She doesn’t even realize what she’s holding until she turns the light on a little brighter, and sees exactly how _old_ the scroll is.

There’s nothing written on it save the date, which is years before the village’s founding, but when she activates her Sharingan, she finds scratchy, masculine handwriting chronically a story in a dialect she has trouble deciphering. It’s a field’s journal discussing a clustering of missions, from what she can gather, but it’s more than that. This isn’t a jounin’s account waiting to be delivered to the Hokage; it’s from long before the original Hokage was even appointed. In the third entry, she sees the name Izuna, referenced as a little brother as well as the only name she recognizes, and realizes this is from Uchiha Madara.

As the daughter of the head of the clan, Sasuke is the direct line from Madara, as the founder. Original task forgotten, she rolls up the scroll to return to its place on the shelf, and shifts through the others to see if there are any more. She finds several towards back, all talking fondly of an annoying little brother, complaining about inter-clan politics, and using such lavish prose to describe his encounters with Senju Hashirama that she thinks she might be reading part of a doomed love story. The upbeat, hopeful undercurrent remains until the fourth and final scroll, dated long after the others, and several years after the construction of Konoha.

Though the old dialect made the others difficult to understand at first, this is worse. There are large portions missing that she knows without being told require eyes like Itachi’s to read. More than once the words “Curse of Hatred” are used, which she thinks involves their clan, but then she reads something about the someone named Indra, and the Curse of Hatred clashing with the Will of Fire in an endless cycle, and she doubts her own interpretation. Every Konoha-nin is a carrier of the Will of Fire, she learned in her first year of the Academy, and she’s never heard of the Curse of Hatred. Maybe he broke up with his boyfriend, she thinks, and skips over a blank section to the end.

Her breath catches in her throat. _The bijuu were born of Otsutsuki_ , it reads, _as our Sharingan were born of his son. With these eyes my brother gave to me, I will end the cycle. Izuna's sacrifice will be honored._

She stares, taking in the statement, before running out of the library, pausing only long enough to grab her jacket. Every step she takes crunches against the now thickly falling snow, and she reaches the shrine’s entrance with a skid on invisible ice, banging her side into the door. It opens with a touch, and then she’s inside for the first time since that night, breathing in dust and the memory of corpses creating shapes in the dark.

A feeling of apprehension and warning rolls over her, and she allows it. With her Sharingan activated, the darkness inside doesn’t bother her, and she finds the back room without issue. She’s never tried to read the texts in here with anything but her normal eyes, but even the walls dance with words visible to her and her alone.

The answer is on the back wall, not in an any scroll or book, written there like a prayer. In the center, and a little above, anyone with ordinary eyes can read, _Sight is understanding, and beginnings, and endings, and victory, and legacy, for the Sharingan will be your open door._ For the first time, she can read below that, too, _Loss is evolution, but evolution for a price. Gain wisdom, and forfeit sight and name in turn._

With a shaking hand, she reaches out to touch the wall. The passage meant, she guesses, that Izuna sacrificed himself so that Madara could end whatever that cycle was. What the lines on the wall mean, though, and what’s affecting a part inside of her that isn’t meant to exist, is that Itachi’s going blind. He deserves more than that after all he’s done, but he’s always been this invisible, powerful force hidden just inside her shadow. It’s difficult to imagine him with a flaw.

Her fingers brush an indentation as she drops her hand, nails catching. Putting any thought of her brother or ancestors out of her mind, she runs her fingertips across in a line, and realizes the indents are words she can’t see.

It makes sense. Even something hidden must have been written at one point. With a distinct feeling she’s about to commit a taboo, she feels around in her pockets until she finds a pencil before unfurling a scroll, flipping it over to the blank side, and pressing it to the wall. Words form as she scribbles, patches of white against the grey graphite, and it isn’t long until four more lines reveal themselves under the work of her pencil.

She reads it over twice, half convinced she’s dreaming, before setting it down and standing on the altar to feel along the rest of the wall. Excitement hums like lightning through her body, though she knows she’s breaking nearly every familial rule her clan has. On the back wall, she finds nothing else, but on the others, there are words and descriptions of techniques she’s never heard of, techniques she can’t use but she doesn’t doubt Itachi can. Most of the scrolls are updates on the clan through the years, or the Sharingan she’s already learned to use without any lessons at all, so she doesn’t feel guilty when she fills the backs of five. Her pencil is worn down by half. Her fingers are smudged by graphite. It’s already morning, but she doesn’t feel tired.

Along the right side of the front entrance to the back room, she scribbles in a technique without a name. _Control of the bijuu_ , it reads, and after a space, _and their jinchuriki_. She blinks, and touches the indents she can feel but not see. Unsettled, she thinks of the raccoon in the forest, and of how she stopped him with a genjutsu she barely knew how to use. Of the second chakra signature expanding inside him, and of how Naruto has it too. Of how the “jinchuriki” indicates a human sacrifice, and how adults were always terrible to a child who was nice enough to apologize for winning just because his opponent was scared.

She lays out the scrolls so the pencil doesn’t smudge, confident in leaving them here as only a born Uchiha can enter, before leaving. Though she doesn’t think it would be a good idea to ask about Naruto, she still wants go to Kakashi-sensei. There’s no guarantee he’ll know much of anything, but he’s the only one she has who might, and she wants to know what the final four lines mean.

Whatever the Rinnegan is, after all, it sounds important, and as the last Uchiha in Konoha, she feels as though she has the right to know.

 

Naruto has a pack on his shoulders, the straps biting into his jacket, and Sakura scowls as she pulls another chocolate straw from its box, munching furiously. This is the scene Sasuke walks into when she turns a corner midway between her house and the market square, the small three street blocks rarely filled with people.

When they see her, Naruto’s mouth splits into a grin of white teeth and something that might be pride, but Sakura’s scowl remains. “We were on our way to get you,” he says, loudness filling the quiet, empty road. Sasuke takes in the sight of both of them dressed fully in their shinobi guard, and feels naked in just her leggings and jacket.

As Sakura straightens her posture, her expression doesn’t lighten, but it smooths into scrutinizing as she sizing Sasuke up. “Don’t you have something warmer?” Sakura says, like a mother. “And aren’t you supposed to be on bed rest still?”

“I’m fine,” Sasuke says, though she’d forgotten the medic’s orders almost the moment she’d gotten home. “A walk’s not going to kill me. Why do you look like you’re about to head off on an expedition?”

With his battered old pack filled to bulging, and forehead protector shining newly cleaned in the thankless December sun, he really does. “Because Jiraiya turned down being Hokage,” he says as Sakura looks down, and sticks her fingers to the bottom of the box to pinch out the broken bits, “so he invited me to help find the new one cause he wants to teach me something. So, yeah, just want to let you know, since I could be gone for a while and all. But isn’t that cool?”

Sasuke looks him over, all unabashed enthusiasm and genuine cheerfulness she can’t understand, and wonders if he knows, or if she’s even right. “Yeah,” she says, and brushes her hair out of her face. Sakura’s is even shorter than hers now, to her chin and still held back with her forehead protector. “When do you leave?”

“Like now?” he says. “I told Jiraiya I had to tell you guys first.”

“Are you sure you’re up to walking around?” Sakura says. “You look like you haven’t slept, like, at all.”

Annoyed now, Sasuke says again, “I’m fine,” and adds, “I just need to get food,” to make her teammate stop.

“We’re going back that way,” Naruto says. “You can go with us.”

Knowing she doesn’t have a choice, she agrees, and follows along. Later, she can talk to Kakashi-sensei. Just because Naruto is leaving doesn’t mean anyone else is, too.

 

After saying goodbye to Naruto, and turning down Sakura’s offer to come over for dinner, Sasuke finds Kakashi-sensei not at his apartment, but in the hospital.

It was street gossip that gave her the news, and the nice receptionist civilian behind the front desk who gives her his room. The excitement she felt earlier transforms into worry, proving that whatever cracked inside her during the fight with Orochimaru in the forest hadn’t repaired itself after all. There are voices murmuring too soft for even her ears to make out the words when she arrives outside the single patient room, but they quiet when she knocks on the door. A moment later, Maito Gai pulls it open, and blinks down at her, looking so much like his student it’s hard to believe they aren’t related.

She shifts, uncomfortable under the weight of his surprised gaze. “I heard Kakashi-sensei was injured,” she says. “I just wanted to see if he was okay.”

Expression softening, Gai steps aside and says, “He’ll be fine,” as she steps in, tripping over his own words so they come out insincere and less than reassuring.

Her sensei’s on the bed, wearing hospital regulated pajamas with the blankets pulled to his shoulders and mask off. The door shuts behind her with a click that blends in with the steady beep of a heart monitor. It reminds her too much of waking suddenly nearly two weeks after the massacre, too scared to even scream, shocking the medic in the room that this little girl of seven just woke from a coma. From the somber looks on the faces of the other jounin in the room, she guesses this must be a coma, too, because no one is this afraid about a few days of unconsciousness.

“What happened?” she asks, and feels very small, and very unwelcome.

No one answers immediately. Then Yuuhi Kurenai says, “You poor kid,” like she hadn’t meant to say it all, dropping it into the silence for someone else to grab and react.

As Sasuke slowly, unwillingly realizes those fearful expressions turned to her aren’t for Kakashi-sensei, but _for her_ , someone unfamiliar opens the door without a knock, cheeks flushed, and takes in everything but the girl a head shorter than all the rest. “Is it true?” he asks, breathless. “Is Uchiha Itachi going after the Uzumaki kid?”

 _Control of the bijuu_ , it said, _and their jinchuriki_.

“You idiot!” someone yells, but Sasuke’s already out the door and down the steps, trying to remember which way Naruto said they were going.

 

Sasuke arrives to a small inn just outside Konoha at sunrise, weaponless, with no plan, and nearly forty-eight hours without sleep. It’s only luck that she gets to the room before Itachi, and more self control than she thought she had to ignore him when she saw him and another man enter the inn from the lobby.

When she shakes Naruto awake, her hand over his mouth keeps him from shouting at the sight of her. “Come on,” she says before he can ask questions. “We’re leaving. Where’s Jiraiya?”

“What are you doing here?” he asks, lowering his voice when she puts a finger to her lips. “No, Sasuke, what’s going on?”

“Long story,” she says, throwing his things in his pack as he moves, pulling on his clothes. She ties the straps, and throws it to him. “Where’s Jiraiya?”

“Down the street,” he says, and when he steps towards the door, she grips his sleeve, and pushes him towards the window. “Here?”

There’s a knock. She grips Naruto’s sleeve tighter, knowing Itachi can feel his chakra signature inside. “Get him and run,” she says, and pushes her friend out the window.

Not waiting for a crash, and knowing she doesn’t have more than a moment before the two outside feel that he’s left, she crosses the room in three steps, and opens the door.

“Hi,” she says, staring up at her brother for the first time in five years. Every instinct she has tells her to run, but she holds her ground, and forces herself to sound casual. “You grew.”

By now, they must know Naruto’s out on the streets, but neither move. Itachi’s face, or what little of it she can see above the high collar of his black and red cloak, goes white.

“Itachi,” the other man says, voice deep and rumbling, and skin bluer than Naruto’s eyes. “Catch up when you can.” Sasuke and Itachi are nearly identical, and it must not be hard to guess who she is, if he ever mentioned her before.

Though he’s fast, and his eyes can track better than hers can, there are advantages in negating the use of hand seals. Sasuke doesn’t allow the other man the opportunity to do more than turn his back, releasing a bolt of lightning from her fingers that hits directly into his neck.

He curses loudly, stumbling and crashing sideways into the wall, as Itachi grabs her arm before she can retract it. “Stay out of this, Sasuke,” he says, pushing her back against the wall, too, so her head knocks and her ears ring. “Turn around, and go back to Konoha where you belong.”

“Itachi, we have more important things to worry about,” the other man says, already recovering, though a strike like that would kill almost anyone. “Just leave her alone.”

“Good luck with that,” she says as she stands stiff in her brother’s grip, thinking quickly for the best way to make them pause even just a bit longer. “I controlled Suna’s for five minutes, and it’s not as easy as it sounds.”

Even when she struck the other man, she hadn’t had his full attention, but now she does, staring at her as intently as her brother. She keeps her eyes on Itachi, back straight like she isn’t terrified. “You,” he starts to says, but then the hallway is slick and white and made of something other than wood.

“Oh, fuck,” the other man says, as Jiraiya appears from the right, Naruto at his side.

As Jiraiya says, “There’s nowhere to run,” Itachi grips her so tight she thinks her arm might break, pressing her back.

“Never say you can that again,” he says low in her ear, and breaks open the wall before she can stop him.

She slides to the floor, breathing hard, and wonders if she only imagined the worry in her brother’s voice.

 

Though Sasuke is still sleep deprived, weaponless, and and ill dressed for the winter weather, Jiraiya doesn’t want to detour back to Konoha, and she returns to the village she belongs to alone. Naruto argued, in his stubborn, half-logical way, that with her brother in the area, she should stay with them for protection. She argued she can take care of herself; Jiraiya argued that she can _clearly_ take care of herself, and they shouldn’t travel with a large party.

Konoha’s walls await her in the fading twilight, tall and casting a pale shadow across the ground that stretches over her the moment she can see it. Without any shinobi gear, and with her hair so messy and clothes so wrinkled and skin bleached white from the cold, she must look more like a ghost than a girl. The chuunin guarding the gate watch her with suspicious eyes, and she doesn’t blame them for their resistance to letting her in, even if by now she feels like she could cry, if she were the type of person to cry over days gone wrong.

“I’m Uchiha Sasuke,” she says for the third time as she activates her Sharingan, looking back and forth between the two of them. The one on the right has hair black as hers, stiff and spiky, and the one of the left has a splash of freckles across his nose, mixing badly with acne. “If this seriously isn’t enough proof, then get Haruno Sakura. She’ll tell you. We’re teammates.”

The Sharingan is enough, and they let her through, however reluctantly. She lets out a sigh, breathing condensation like smoke, and walks home.

Though it’s five on a Saturday, the streets are nearly deserted. Two brothers chase each other between the stalls in the main square as their disinterested mother gossips with the potato vender, identical blonde curls all drifting across their round faces. A few patrons dot the stalls of Ichiraku, nothing but their legs visible, half hidden by the cloth entrance and the steam billowing out. Hikari Aiko, an old classmate who never passed the second part of graduation, exits a bakery across the road carrying a paper box, jingling a bell just inside the door. Most stalls are closed, tarps thrown over their goods, or cleared out, with the venders at the few that are still open reclining in chairs, thumbing through newspapers or books.

Past the main square, past the strip of populated area before it falls away into the business and residential districts, Sasuke doesn’t see anyone at all. Right at the edge, where main meets business, she pauses, teetering on the edge of a pull for home and a repulsion at the idea of walking the five minutes of back alleys she’ll have to in order to reach there, even if she does go across the river. She thinks of Itachi, and how the feeling of his hand around her wrist still seems to burn. Maybe she is the sort of girl to cry over bad days, because she feels the tears now pressing against her eyes, and—

She swallows hard, and blinks rapidly before turning away, and walking through to hospital doors three buildings down on her left instead.

“What can I do for you, dear?” the receptionist asks once she enters, looking her over the way Sakura did just a day earlier. “If you’re here for a cold, it’s floor three, fourth door on the right.”

Shaking her head, Sasuke says, “No, I’m not sick. I’m here to see Hatake Kakashi.”

“Relationship?”

“I’m his student. I already know his room.”

A man enters, holding the hand of a little girl bundled in a purple coat, her nose bright red. He steps right past Sasuke as though she weren’t there, and requests the cold ward. After repeating the instructions she’d just given Sasuke, the receptionist looks back to her over the rims of her sharp black glasses and says, “Go up right up then.”

The little girl sneezes three times in rapid succession. Sasuke’s gone with a mumbled thank you, taking the side stairs instead of the main ones, up to the fourth floor and through the heavy wooden door, right to the final room on the left, where Kakashi-sensei lies still and alone.

She sinks into the seat next to him, pulling her legs to her chest, and stares down at his face where his eyes move quick under their lids, trapped in a nightmare. “I know, he sucks,” she says, not sure why she’s bothering to talk aloud when she knows from experience he can’t hear her, “but I woke up when I was seven, so you don’t have any excuse not to, okay?”

Of course, he doesn’t answer, because he can’t. When she entered, she hadn’t flicked on the light, but the glow of the rising moon falls through the thin curtains, creating stripes across the room. _You already took away everything once_ , she thinks, because maybe Itachi’s worst crime wasn’t killing everyone, but leaving her alive. _Do you really have to try and do it again?_

Slowly, the moon rises higher into the stars, and Sasuke, exhausted and alone, falls asleep at Kakashi-sensei’s bedside the way he had so many nights at hers.

 

With nothing to do, Sasuke’s days are counted in periods of waking. It’s Tuesday now, Naruto’s still gone, Kakashi-sensei’s still unconscious, the scrolls now neatly rolled in the shrine, and she wakes to the sound of her name repeated over and over.

She sees bright green first, then pink, and finally, sunlight illuminating Sakura’s round face. “Oh,” she says, grip on Sasuke’s shoulder loosening, sighing in relief. “Oh, you’re okay.”

There’s something wrong with this picture, but Sasuke’s head is pounding, and she wants to slip under her covers again, away from the cold air, and her teammate, and the light. As she backs away, she sits, pressing the heel of her palm to her forehead, and Sakura stands. The red of her sweater is the same color as the top of the Uchiha symbol that decorates the clothes in Sasuke’s closet she’s too sentimental to throw away.

“I called your name, but you didn’t react,” Sakura’s saying, and has her hand on Sasuke’s arm again, pulling her up as though she doesn’t weigh much more than the teddy bear her aunt knit her for her third birthday. That’s still somewhere around here, too. “Are you okay? Sasuke, it’s already two. Why isn’t the heat on? Don’t you have heat? You’re, like, rich.”

Then she’s standing, foot caught in her blankets, dressed in a pair of old shorts and a camisole riding up her stomach. The new scar Gaara gave her with the raccoon claws are visible, pink and dipping down her hipbone, but the one Sakura’s eyes draw to is the thin kunai scratch down her collarbone from when she was nine. Wrapping her arms around herself, Sasuke says, “I need to take a shower,” and feels vaguely accomplished that the words came out in the proper order.

It isn’t a proper order kind of day. Morning. Afternoon.

Sakura says she’ll wait in the kitchen, a different worry than Itachi’s worry coloring her voice, so Sasuke nods, and disappears without a word into the bathroom.

She makes it quick, and it isn’t until she cleaned and dressed and in the kitchen with Sakura pouring coffee into a couple of mugs that Sasuke realizes what’s wrong. “How’d you get in here?” she says even as she accepts the mug. “Why are you here?”

“You were acting weird the last time I saw you,” Sakura answers as Sasuke sips her coffee. It’s strong, and hot.  “Then I find out you left, came back, and no one’s heard from you in a few days? I was worried. And your front door wasn’t shut all the way, so I just let myself in case you were hurt or something.”

Sasuke always leaves the front entrance opens because she can’t hear a knock from the house, but she never forgets to lock her doors. Confused, she says, “I’m fine. Just overslept. It was open?”

“Yeah, like maybe this much.” Sakura holds her hands apart two inches. “Oversleeping is ten in the morning, not two in the afternoon. Sasuke—”

Ignoring her, Sasuke slips to the front of her house to the front door, now closed. She pushes it open with her unoccupied hand, and runs her fingers down the edge until she feels the lock, which pushes in easily. “But I locked it,” she says as Sakura comes up behind her. “Or at least I—didn’t I?”

“I don’t think you did,” her teammate says. She shuts it again, and locks with a click. It’s only because she’s so used to Sakura that she didn’t wake up, she tells herself. If there was an intruder, she would have. “Look, I know entering without permission isn’t good, but I heard about your brother coming back, and—well, I just remembered how it was seeing you in the hospital, and Kakashi-sensei’s in the hospital, and I was just _worried_.”

Without turning around, Sasuke says, “You went to the hospital back then?” No medical-nin ever mentioned visitors. She never wanted visitors.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Sakura nod. A pink blur bobbing. “With Ino and her dad,” she says. “We brought you flowers. They said you weren’t going to wake up, and you were back in school like a week and a half later.”

They’re silent for a moment, Sakura awaiting an appropriate response, and Sasuke not having one to give. “I’m fine,” she says finally, again, her favorite words on repeat. “Itachi was after Naruto, not me. He didn’t even try to hurt me.”

“Do you know why?” She shakes her head, and sips the coffee so she won’t have to answer, finishing it. “Well, Jiraiya’s a sannin. I’m sure Naruto’s safe.”

For some reason, she laughs, like that’s funny, like Jiraiya isn’t the sort to leave a _thirteen-year-old_ in his care unguarded, like Itachi didn’t look as terrified to see her as she was to see him. “I’m the family disappointment, Sakura, and I’m still one of the best of our age group,” she says, running her finger down the molding of the doorway, and catching her nail on a crack in the wood. “Itachi killed twenty members of the best clan in Konoha when he was Naruto’s age, and he’s with someone. Pretty sure he has a shot.”

Again, Sakura’s quiet. Then she says, “Yeah, I guess you’re right. You really have no idea what’s going on? I mean, you’re his sister. Shouldn’t someone tell you?”

“No one ever tells me anything.”

“Right. So we just have to find out ourselves,” she says with the same determination Sasuke felt the other day when she scribbled across the shrine. “Because that’s not fair. We both know our way around the library. I bet we can find something.”

If Kakashi-sensei were awake, Sasuke would’ve demanded answers, and he would’ve given them. But the public library has old Bingo Books, and even if they aren’t recent, the man with Itachi was old enough he might have been in three years ago. Sakura’s right; Itachi is Sasuke’s brother, which makes him Sasuke’s problem, regardless of which of her teammates he’s after, so it isn’t fair that no one’s felt the need to tell her what he’s doing back.

“You know what?” she says, and looks Sakura directly for the first time. There’s a new scar above her eyebrow from the injury that gave her the concussion in the second test. “Let’s go. I want to know what’s happening.”

Though Sasuke doesn’t like asking for help, this is her teammate, and she can make the exception. Some answers are just too big to find on her own.

 

“So, I was thinking,” Sakura says half an hour as they enter the reference section of the library after Academy hours when it’s blessedly empty, “what if it’s because of his parents? Even he doesn’t know anything about his parents.”

Sasuke makes a line for the section with the old Bingo Books, weaving through the high shelves and low wooden tables. “It’ll take a better excuse than ‘we’re here for our sensei’ for me to get access to the village archives,” she says as she finds what she’s looking for, standing on her toes to grab the most recent.

As she begins to flip through the thin book, Sakura says, “We don’t need it. Not everyone has a famous clan they get to use for the third year lineage project. _I_ know where they keep the family trees.”

“They keep family trees in the library?” Sasuke asks, and then stops, finding herself face to face with the blue skinned man. “I found him. Hoshigaki Kisame of Kirigakure, also called Monster of Kiri. He was a member of the Seven Swordsmen of Kiri like Zabuza was.”

“What? Really?” Sakura snags the book from her, and holds her hand over the edge to keep the light from casting the glare. “It says he’s S-ranked. He didn’t attack you?”

Shrugging, Sasuke says, “Didn’t really get the chance. I got him in the back of the head with lightning. Why do they keep family trees?”

Sakura blinks. “Oh,” she says. “I don’t know. Class projects? But if Naruto’s an Uzumaki because it’s his actual name and not just added because someone made it up, then he might not be in it, but his dad will be. You seriously hit another S-ranked guy?”

“His back was turned,” Sasuke says. “Don’t really think he was expecting to get attacked. Okay, so at some point my brother joined with a missing-nin from Kiri. They wore those cloaks like it was a uniform, though.”

“You can speed read with the Sharingan, right?” Sakura says. Sasuke nods, and activates it, understanding what she means. “Meet up with you at the tables in an hour?”

With that in agreement, Sakura heads back towards the front of the section, and Sasuke stares down at the face in the book a moment longer. She flips another few pages, and finds Itachi’s red eyes glaring into hers.

After the massacre, people said they should have known, that no one that young could handle the work given to him, but they didn’t know him. _No one_ knew him, even their parents, as her father admitted bluntly only weeks before Itachi killed him. But she thinks Shisui did, and she thinks she probably did, too, so now their cousin is dead, and she’s chasing red clouds on a black sky for answers. Itachi never did anything without seeing the logic in it when she was young, and she doubts it’s different now. Those clouds mean something more than well coordinating his outfit to his eyes.

Clouds are like Kumogakure, or at least that’s the most obvious, so she tries Land of Lightning section in the History and Culture aisles. The Sharingan allows her to absorb and understand information with half of a glance at the page, and she finishes before the hour is through. There was nothing, but she should’ve expected that much.

Sakura’s already at the table when Sasuke slides into a chair, frowning at the page in front of her with her head in her hand. “I was right about Uzumaki being a family,” she says, looking up and folding her arms. “Past Uzumaki Mito, I mean. The one who married the—”

“I’m a _Uchiha_ ,” Sasuke cuts in. “I don’t need an Academy lecture on the Senju.”

Cheeks coloring, Sakura says, “Oh, sorry. Uh, I’m used to Ino, who’s smart, but doesn’t really care about this stuff. Anyway, the Uzumaki clan was mostly in Uzushiogakure before it was destroyed, but there still are people on the family tree, right? Look.” She flips it around so Sasuke can see the thinly drawn lines and scrawled names. “But there’re no guys for three generations, so either there was no one important, or I was wrong.”

“Unless he was named for his mom,” Sasuke says as her eyes settle on the last name, remembering her mother’s war stories when her father wasn’t around, about days spent with her friend Kushina, some offhand remark on how _her friend Kushina_ married the Yondaime. About how Naruto said Jiraiya was teaching him the _Yondaime’s_ technique, and in retrospect, no one would teach some random orphan a jutsu that culturally important. “Look at Uzumaki Kushina. It doesn’t give date of death or cause of death or anything. Just says ‘died.’”

Sakura pulls the book back over. “It doesn’t say if she married anyone,” she says, so Sasuke stands, finds a photographed history of Konoha’s recent past, and flips open to Namikaze Minato’s picture.

“That’s her husband,” she says, placing the book open in front of her friend. “And my mom always described Kushina having hair like a tomato, which means that’s probably her.”

It’s a photograph of the Yondaime’s appointment to the position, with him smiling fully dressed in front of the podium, and a row of jounin behind him. A girl with bright red hair around Sasuke’s mother’s age at the time is just behind him, a smile large enough to match his across her face.

“Well, that would make him important enough to go after,” Sakura says, leaning closer to the page. “Your mom told you this?”

Pointing to the woman on Kushina’s right, Sasuke says, “That’s Uchiha Mikoto. They partnered together in the war. Mom always described her as her best friend. Never mentioned how she died. I always assumed it was during a fight.”

When she agreed that Naruto’s parentage might be the cause behind someone going after him, she hadn’t believed it; she knows he’s a jinchuriki, and Itachi’s reaction to her mentioning Gaara was proof enough. But now, looking into Namikaze Kushina’s face, at her mother’s best friend, Sasuke has to admit the similarity in appearance is undeniable. Naruto is his mother with his father’s hair.

She’s teammates with the son of the Yondaime and her mother’s best friend.

“We never really discussed the Yondaime in class,” Sakura says, and Sasuke breaks her attention from the page, turning to lean back against the table’s edge. “I always thought it was weird. What’s so bad no one would tell him?”

Though Sasuke has a few ideas, she says, “I don’t know,” because admitting anything else would be violating Naruto’s privacy with information he isn’t even aware she has. “I didn’t find anything.”

“Where did you check?”

“Kumogakure.”

“What about Ame?” Sasuke looks down. Sakura raises an eyebrow. “Clouds. Rain. A minor village so it’s not like anyone talks about it.”

Feeling slightly stupid, and understanding the reasoning, Sasuke agrees, and Sakura comes with her to the considerably smaller section on Amegakure. She takes books with pictures, easier to rifle through with normal eyes, and Sasuke takes the wordy ones, moving from the largest to smallest.

Some time after the sun sets, Sakura tugs on Sasuke’s sleeve. “Is this the pattern?” she asks, and there, in a single photograph of post-war devastation, are the cloaks. “The caption says ‘Akatsuki’ but doesn’t explain anything.”

“They were a rebel group,” Sasuke says, who’d read up on them minutes earlier in a book on recent history, and before that in a history of military campaigns. Neither described what the uniform they wore looked like. “They were fighting for a less corrupt Ame government. Nothing was really clear on if they won or not. Doesn’t really answer what Itachi’s doing with them, but it gives us a name.”

It’s not much, but it’s more than before. Sakura is still holding the book open, looking both pleased with herself, and hopeful, and it takes Sasuke a moment to realize her friend is waiting to see if she’s doing any better than when she first woke.

Carefully, to be sure it sounds as sincere as she feels, Sasuke says, “Thanks, Sakura,” and the other girl relaxes into a smile.

 

Three weeks after Naruto leaves, he returns with Jiraiya and the Godaime and stories of Orochimaru attacking the site of a historical landmark. Team Seven stands together inside their sensei’s hospital room while she heals him, waiting and worrying.

“He’ll be better right away,” Naruto said when he found them at the training grounds, both breathing heavy with Sakura close to fainting on the coarse grass. “Tsunade’s the best medical-nin in the world, basically.”

Even if the Godaime is the best medical-nin the world, basically, that doesn’t guarantee she can heal damage to the mind. The Tsukuyomi doesn’t cause physical injury, but it doesn’t make it less dangerous. Sakura lashes out suddenly when the Godaime’s hands begin to glow blue, fingers wrapping around Sasuke’s wrists so sharp her nails leave marks in the spaces between her veins. When she was younger, she never asked if anyone tried to heal her. She assumed no one bothered. Given her friend’s reaction, she thinks maybe they had.

The Godaime runs her hands above and across Kakashi-sensei’s eyes, where the Tsukuyomi is inflicted. Sakura’s nails dig hard enough to hurt. Naruto tenses. Somehow, Sasuke keeps calm, but she doesn’t know what she’ll do if Kakashi-sensei doesn’t wake. Though how delicately he treated her compared to her teammates could be annoying, she’s finally grown used to having someone she can trust.

It works. He wakes with a jolt and gasp, nearly knocking in the Godaime’s hand. Naruto and Sakura are away from the wall in a second, over to the bedside, crowding him, but Sasuke stays. After a moment of panic and searching eyes, Kakashi-sensei settles in breathing and body, and focuses on his relieved team.

“What happened?” he says, looking from the his students to the Godaime. “Tsunade? What?”

But then his students are on him, laughing and crying in equal parts as Sasuke stands by the wall. Then she feels someone’s gaze on her, and when she peels away from her distracted team, she finds the the Godaime looking to her instead of the scene, eyes blue and piercing, and pitying, too.

 

There’s a flurry of activity in the short time between Kakashi-sensei waking, and the Godaime’s appointment, so tightly packed together that he and Sasuke never had the opportunity to talk. It’s not without wanting to; the look he gives her when he learns about her family reunion is undeniably one of disappointment, and she still wants to ask about what he knows. As one of the village’s surviving jounin, he’s kept busy in the following days, and when everything finally calms, the Godaime calls Sasuke to her office before she can search Kakashi-sensei out.

Though both her teammates have been in this room with the Sandaime (Naruto for troublemaking, and Sakura for accepting an Academy award for her written scores), this is Sasuke’s first time. It’s smaller than she imagined, painted a pale clay over stucco walls with the perfect view of the Hokage’s monument in the sunset through the large windows. The Godaime sits at a dark wooden desk that closely resembles the one in the study at home. When she motions for the seat across, Sasuke takes it.

A file lies closed next to the Godaime’s elbow, and Sasuke reads her own name upside down on the flap. Without pausing for suspense, the Godaime says, “Konoha’s facing, well, a problem. I’m sure you’re aware of the number of jounin and chuunin dead. And only three Konoha-nin completed the third test, from what I hear.”

She pauses. Sasuke twists her fingers into the hem of her shirt. Then the Godaime continues, looking Sasuke over, “You’re going to advance. But first I have a few questions I want answered by you, and no one else. I want you to answer honestly. Understand?”

“Yes, Godaime-sama,” she says, confused, and wary.

“Good,” the Godaime says, folding her arms across the desk. “When Orochimaru attacked you in the forest, did he promise you anything if you went with him?”

“He didn’t even say anything to me,” Sasuke answers. “I just thought he was going to cut out my eyes.”

For a moment, the Godaime says nothing, eyebrows raised, seeming more surprised than anything else. “I’m sure your teammate told you about our own fight with him,” she says finally, and Sasuke nods. “He answered a few of Jiraiya’s questions. It’s your body he wants you for, as a host. His own is dying, and he wants yours to replace it.”

She thinks of the feeling of his body over hers, mouth bearing for his neck, and, even in the quiet safety of the Hokage’s office, feels more violated than she has in years. “And he thinks I’d actually go along with that?” she says. “Why?”

“Because he could offer you the power the kill your brother.”

The words hang in the air, waiting for her. Suddenly, the look of pity in the hospital room has an explanation. “I don’t care about killing Itachi,” she says, gripping harder at her shirt.

Expression blank now, disbelieving, the Godaime says, “Why did you go after him alone?”

Sasuke stares. “What you healed,” she says, frustration bubbling up inside her, “what he did—it has a name. The Tsukuyomi. Just five minutes is reliving pain or a memory for days. And I’m the only person who can combat it. I didn’t want him to attack Naruto, too.”

“So you’re skilled in genjutsu, then?” the Godaime says, changing the subject abruptly, and the frustration shifts just as quickly again to confusion. “Is that what you used to control Gaara of Suna?”

This is what these questions were leading to, Sasuke realizes. Answer honestly, the Godaime had said, but Itachi’s warning pricks at the back of Sasuke’s mind. “It was a lucky guess,” she says evenly, as though this is still the most information she has, “and didn’t really work. But Sakura was hurt and I was scared, so I tried. Why?”

“Just curious.” The Godaime’s tone is clipped, but relaxed. “Congratulations, Sasuke. I’m promoting you to chuunin with your teammate.”

Quicker than she should, Sasuke stands, stuttering out a thank you in a way that sounds an awful lot like Hinata as she gives a slight bow of gratitude. Naruto’s waiting for her outside the door, bristling with happiness that they were promoted together while Neji wasn’t, but Sasuke can’t shake the feeling of the Godaime’s eyes on her back.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasuke really does have the worst luck in the world.

It’s the middle of the night when Sasuke wakes with the thought _There’s someone on the property_.

She has no reason to know this, to think it; whoever it is has suppressed his chakra signature so well she can’t sense it, and there’re no sounds out of the ordinary. Outside the window, through her thin curtains, the moon is high in the deep, dark sky with hours left until morning. There’s no movement, nor sound. Even the wind is silent in the bare trees. But someone is here all the same.

Quietly, quickly, she slips from the bed, blinking sleep out of her eyes and suppressing her chakra like the intruder. The floor is cold beneath the feet, the air already raising goosebumps across her skin. For now on she’s sleeping in more than a tshirt and shorts.

The front door creaks, so she exits through the back instead, feet silent against the wooden steps and then silent against the dirt and the cobblestones. It’s a full moon tonight, with the chilly silver light illuminating the compound too brightly for there to be many places to hide, but there’re still the other buildings. Outside like this, alone, Sasuke is wholly exposed, but the intruder has five empty houses at his disposal. She can’t search all of them. Inevitably, he’s going to find her before she finds him, if that’s the intention here.

Then, she feels it—a single, fleeting flicker of chakra coming from behind her grandparents’ house. She moves towards it even as it dies again, keeping to the shadows, unable to help the cheerful red of her shirt that hinders any attempt at stealth. Past the house and past its small garden now filled with weeds is the courtyard leading to the shrine, lit in full by moonlight. The realization of where the intruder is comes to her jarringly, and she steps back, slicing her heel on the thorns of a low pricker bush never officially planted. Hiding in a building she hasn’t opened the door of in years is one thing, but using the entrance room of the clan’s shrine is somehow more invasive than entering the property itself.

It also leaves her completely visible from almost anywhere she tries to approach from.

There’s no movement inside that she can see, but she knows with the same absolute certainty that she knew someone was here that this is where he is. With no other choice than to disregard every piece of training she’s ever received, she takes a deep breath, stabilizing her heartbeat, and dashes left towards the wall.

This is the long way, but the only way to stay in the shadows, because she can go around the side to approach from the back, where the room he can’t enter into is, and get onto the roof to come in from a side window. Or, at least this is what she plans. Instead, she barely makes it three steps before something like a solid shadow moves past her, leaving the entrance door open, clipping her on the side so she’s knocked over by the forced of it. But she’s back up in an instant, Sharingan activated now that there’s no point in masking her chakra to hide that she’s here, and catches sight of just a blur of another chakra signature disappearing around the side of her grandparents’ house.

She scrambles up, following at a speed faster than most shinobi twice her age but still not fast enough, and comes to a halt in the front courtyard. The front entrance is open, right door swaying into the left in the slight breeze, with whoever it was gone. Though it’s been years, she still remembers watching Shisui teach Itachi the proper way to do a Shunshin, and thinks that’s what she just saw. It’s not teleportation, as she thought when she was younger seeing her cousin show off in the yard; a person can’t go through solid objects, so the door to the shrine must have slowed the intruder down just enough for the Sharingan to catch. A Shunshin is difficult, though, and to be able to use means he was most likely a jounin.

Though he’s gone, she keeps her Sharingan activated as a flimsy sense of security, and closes the front entrance. A breeze suddenly evolves into a gust, sinking into her clothes and through her skin until she feels her blood turn to ice inside her. The wind carries with it the metallic smell of approaching snow, through the sky is clear with the moon and stars crisp and silver across the expanse of black.

There’s a trail of blood across the cobblestones when she turns to handle the shrine, deep red in the moonlight. She feels seven again, coming home from the hospital with her head too full of memories both real and fabricated to find the bodies cleared but not the blood. That first night she spent wandering the compound on her knees with a sponge and a bucket of soap filled water, scrubbing it away on her own. Come the next day, she was back in kunoichi lessons with glassy, sleepless eyes, and hands rubbed raw. Konoha’s orphan care at its finest.

She dealt with a disaster that night, and she can deal with this one, too. With shaking hands, she tears off the hemline of her tshirt and ties it around her foot after picking out a few stray thorns. The cold’s turned her body numb, but she ignores it and takes a different route to the shrine to avoid the blood. When she reaches it, she steps through the door instead of locking it from the outside just to see if anything was stolen, and freezes.

The outer room is undisturbed, but the door to the one beyond it is cracked open, as if someone closed it too quickly and it bounced. She steps forward once, then back again, seeing that the seals are perfectly placed, and stops herself from walking out of the shrine entirely. Though she’s afraid, she’s handled worse than an intruder long gone and an empty room. Leaving to find Kakashi-sensei or one of her teammates—to wake them, given the time—is an unnecessary procrastination. This is her family’s shrine on her family’s property, and therefore a clan issue, which means she can deal with it accordingly, alone.

With that settled, she steps forward again, twice and then three times and then four, until she walks unhindered into the small back room.

Most scrolls are there, but the ones she used to record the writings on the walls are gone. The panic she’d momentarily suppressed rushes back dizzyingly fast, and she turns to the nearest wall to feel down the edge. It’s as unaffected as it looks, the kanji describing the Izanagi carved just light enough to feel but not to see, but that’s not what’s important. It’s not important that she, who memorized her family secrets with her Sharingan, still has access; what’s important is that someone else now has access to the knowledge, too.

That chakra signature, as quick as it was, wasn’t Itachi’s. She can say this with complete certainty, because after experiencing the Tsukuyomi endlessly for two weeks, she knows his signature almost as intimately as she knows her own. If she’s wrong, and not just blood family can enter but anyone with an implanted Sharingan, too, then she doesn’t have many more answers of who this could be. The only person she knows with one is Kakashi-sensei, who wouldn’t do this, and whose signature she would recognize after six months as his student anyway. Whoever it was, though, might not have revealed who he was, but at least that he exists. More than that, this revealed that someone’s been _watching her_ for a month at least, and must have some sort of involvement in Konoha’s internal affairs if he waited until _after_ the chaos of the attack’s aftermath and the appointment of the Godaime was over.

Her breathing’s too fast and her vision dimming, heart racing as she loses the feeling in her fingertips. It’s a familiar sensation, though she hasn’t experienced it since the day of the seminar when she was eleven. She sits, shoulder against the rough stone wall with her legs to her chest and her knees between them, trying to regulate her breathing. She counts to ten, and focuses on what she can—the cold floor, the feeling of the cloth around her ankle and the blood still seeping through it, of the kanji for _existence_ pressing into the bare skin of her arm. When she finally forces herself to stand again, she hasn’t calmed her heart or her head, but the dizzy feeling’s passed and her legs are strong enough to walk on.

As she reaches the main house, the snow is just beginning to fall. Her feet are cut up and scraped, so the first thing she does is shower off, and disinfect and bandage herself properly. Then she slips on a sweater and pants, turns on every light in the house, and starts a pot of coffee.

Though she should, she doesn’t sleep tonight. Instead she drinks her coffee to stay awake, and watches the world through the Sharingan just in case.

 

 

Sakura is a genin training under the Godaime, Kakashi’s on a mission with classified details, and Sasuke and Naruto are to be sent alone to investigate a disturbance at the border of the Land of Grass. This is the information that greets Sasuke just past sunrise when her teammate is still blinking sleep from his eyes and she’s overstimulated by too much caffeine.

“We don’t really have anyone to spare as a third teammate,” Shizune says after the Godaime moves on from mission assignments to paperwork, “and you were specifically requested, Sasuke.”

“What about me?” Naruto asks, but Shizune only smiles apologetically. In the bright sunlight reflecting off the freshly fallen snow, his eyes are such a pale blue they might be chips of ice.

Sasuke crosses her arm, fingers freezing in her gloves. “Right,” she says. “By who?”

As she shifts her weight, putting more on her uninjured foot, Naruto glances from her legs to her face, and furrows his brow. Neither Sasuke nor Sakura have told him yet what the found. Sasuke thinks maybe she should now that they’ll be alone. If he wants to hit her for keeping from him that she’s known what he is for weeks, he has the right.

“There’s a village there at the border,” Shizune says, crossing her arms too as the wind blows, tossing the loose snow up in tendrils to dance around their knees. “Someone on the village council is a shinobi who was discharged for injury, apparently. He said if they can’t get a jounin, they at least want the Sharingan. Find him when you get there. His name is Hikari Ryuu. He’ll give you further details. Be thorough, but try to make it quick.”

Until the point where Konoha stabilizes in its entirety, Sasuke has a feeling this is something she’ll hear a lot. Good. After last night’s revelation, her desire to be in the village dropped substantially. “Okay,” she says again, adjusting the strap on her shoulder. “We’ll be back soon.”

Naruto nods and steps forward, close enough that she can feel his body heat without touching him. “Yeah, we’re too good to take forever,” he says, so Shizune smiles again, small and doubtful. “Where’s Sakura?”

“Home sleeping if she has any sense,” she answers. “Go say goodbye if you want. You leave in an hour.”

They tell her they’ll be there, and set off for Sakura’s. Once they’re around the corner, Naruto asks, “What’d you do to your foot? You’re not standing on it.”

There’s a lie prepared, an instinctive It’s Nothing, or I’m Fine waiting to be said, but Sasuke is just one person. She knows she should go to someone, to an adult who can do more than some twelve-year-old girl only chuunin for a few days, but she doesn’t want the attention from any more strangers. “Promise not to tell anyone?” she says as they walk, tucking her hands in her pockets, and after Naruto agrees, she explains the best she can.

He stares at her when she finishes, cheeks pink from the cold and eyes wide. “Someone broke into your house,” he says, “and you just stayed there? Why didn’t you, I don’t know, find me or Sakura? What if he’d come back?”

It hadn’t occurred to her after finding the scrolls missing to go anywhere else. The thought of asking for help almost never does. “He didn’t,” she says with a shrug. “So it doesn’t really matter. Just figured you should know.”

“But he _could’ve_ ,” he says. “You said you only felt the chakra signature for a second, so who knows, maybe it was your brother, and you were really freaked out last time. Kakashi-sensei’s always saying how teammates look out for each other, which is supposed to go both ways. Just because me and Sakura aren’t from clan with a some super powerful kekkei genkai doesn’t mean we’re useless or anything.”

“I never said you were useless,” she says, uncomfortable and wishing she hadn’t said anything at all. “If you mean the hotel—you can’t handle Itachi. I can’t even handle Itachi, but—”

“That’s what I mean,” Naruto says. “None of us can do it. And none of us can deal with Orochimaru, either. He’s so strong he killed the Sandaime. But you tried to fight him all alone. You did the same thing with Haku on the bridge. You look...really bad right now. You totally wouldn’t if you stopped trying to do everything yourself.”

Inside her pockets, her hands ball into fists because he’s right, and she doesn’t want him to be. “What else am I supposed to do?” she says. “We’ve been fighting nothing but S-ranked missing-nin and _Gaara_ since our first mission as genin. Usually the protocol for that sort of thing is to run, but since they’ve routinely been after you or me, the smart thing to do is to use a distraction to let the other two get away.”

“I’ve got enough clones that—”

“Even a secondary chakra reserve runs out of chakra, Naruto.”

Naruto’s mouth snaps shut, losing whatever he meant to say. There’s tension, but different than before, and he shrinks away slightly. Makes himself smaller. “What do you mean?” he says. “How’d you get that?”

Though the last place she wanted to discuss this was the streets of Konoha, deserted or not, it’s out in the open now. She looks down, dropping her shoulders, and says, ”The Sharingan can see chakra to a point,” quieter than before. “I don’t really care, but after we fought Gaara, did you seriously think I wouldn’t figure it out?”

“I’m not like that,” he says. “I’m not like _that_.”

“Yeah, I know.”

As she raises her eyes again, he raises his, and for the first time a long time, he seems scared. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Shrugging, she answers, “I found out names and everything after you were gone, but I can’t tell you until we’re out of Konoha, okay? But I don’t care. You’re not like that.”

There’s a short beat of a silence and then, to her surprise, he smiles broadly. “You’re still stupid for trying to do everything yourself,” he says, walking off in the direction of Sakura’s again, “but I guess you’re not that bad.”

For a long time, Sasuke hadn’t wanted friends. Now Naruto leads them around the snow covered streets to their teammate’s house, and she thinks maybe she could’ve used this a little earlier.

 

 

Hours later, when Sasuke and Naruto settle down for dinner and sleep, she finally explains what she can. “I’m pretty sure it was someone else last night,” she finishes, legs folded and arms crossed. “Itachi sounded worried, genuinely. Like if he thought someone found out I could get in a lot of trouble. And now someone does know.”

They’re huddled around a small fire, lit by a Kanton jutsu to ignite the wet wood. Across from her, he sits with legs tucked close to his chest, hands pressed beneath his knees. “Wait,” he says, staring at her through the smoke. “If you’re right—I found out right before we graduated. The Kyuubi attacked the village and the Yondaime got killed sealing it up inside me, so if you’re right, then that’s my dad who did this to me, and that’s—you figured all this out from a scroll that’s like a hundred-years-old and a story your mom told you about her friend? That’s nuts. No dad’s crazy enough to do this to their kid. It sucks.”

“You look exactly like his wife, but with his hair color,” Sasuke says, tucking her hair behind her ear. “And she was an Uzumaki. A sannin isn’t going to take an interest in some random orphan no matter how special you think you are on your own, Naruto. Passing on a jutsu like the Rasengan is passing on a legacy, which means a relative, not some kid picked off the street.”

“You’re a random orphan, too,” Naruto says, but he sounds too afraid to manage to offend her, “and a sannin’s taken in an interest in _you_.”

“The Sharingan is all anyone’s interested in,” she says, frowning. “You grew up in a village provided apartment, didn’t you? Surrounded by other orphans?” she continues, and he nods. “I wasn’t put there for a reason. I’m always going to be someone, whether I like it or not.”

He doesn’t answer immediately, and she doesn’t try to break the silence. Then he says, “But why would someone do that to his own kid?”

After everything that’s happened between the day in the library and tonight, she hasn’t had time to think of a reasoning. By now, she understands that family doesn’t mean much, because sons don’t kill parents and nephews don’t kill uncles and aunts and cousins don’t kill cousins, and Itachi never acted like he was capable of doing what he did. Naruto, though, never had any family at all, so he doesn’t have the context to understand that lesson, too. She never wants him to have to understand it either, or Sakura, or anyone else in Konoha.

As she goes to shrug, though, something that should’ve been obvious occurs to her. “Did anyone tell you how the Kyuubi ended up attacking?” she asks, and when he says no, she continues, “Your chakra’s different, and I mean your actual chakra. There’s more of it than normal separate from the Kyuubi’s chakra. Gaara had abnormally high levels, too. What if you require a certain type of chakra to be a Jinchuriki? Senju Hashirama had to have married Uzumaki Mito for a reason, right?”

“It freaks me out that you even know this,” he says, clutching at the inseam of his pants. “I promised to never ever tell anyone about this, but you figured all this out on your own. If I’m Namikaze Minato’s son, then why give me my mom’s last name?”

“To make the relation less obvious to your own age group?” she says. “I don’t know. I never would’ve put it together if it weren’t for Gaara. I thought it was just a quirk of your chakra signature before that.”

This isn’t true necessarily, but she hadn’t been sure what to make of it, and had been too preoccupied by other business to put too much thought into it. He frowns, accepting her excuse easily enough, and says, “So our moms were best friends? I guess that’s cool. Do you have any pictures of her?”

It’s been years since Sasuke’s touched a photo album, too scared to look at the faces of her family frozen by time. “I don’t know,” she says, honestly, because she can’t remember any of the pictures in any of the books. “I can check. I should probably make sure nothing else was stolen anyway.”

Again, Naruto’s silent for a long moment before he says, “There enough room in my apartment for two people. If you’re too scared to sleep back in your house again.”

“I’m not scared,” she says too quickly. “I just need to be more alert. Besides, no intruder is stupid enough to break into the main—” She pauses, and her heart skips a beat. “I locked the door,” she says, more to herself than to her friend, thinking of Sakura’s hands held two inches apart to show how exposed her home was. “How did I miss someone _in my house?_ ”

“Uh,” he says. “Sakura told me about the whole open door thing. You do kind of miss things sometimes, you know. I mean, even when you’re awake. I think Jiraiya called it detachment or something.”

Sasuke blinks, and it takes a moment to process what he said. As “unexpected” as he claims to be, Naruto doesn’t surprise her often. “What do you mean?” she says. “And what does Jiraiya have to do with it?”

There’s a sense of awkwardness settled around them now, as though even he hadn’t meant to say it. “All of us will be having a conversation or something,” he says, “and you’re there, but it’s kind of like you’re not? And it’s not just not paying attention, and—I don’t know, I thought you knew. But, Tsunade, see, she and Jiraiya were talking over you, me, and Neji on the way back because Konoha needs chuunin, and I feel asleep before I really heard anything, but then the next morning she was asking about you. It was weird.”

Though Naruto doesn’t understand what the Godaime asking, Sasuke does. Over the years she saw enough family members advance ranks to recognize mental health concerns. A word like “detachment” isn’t used without reason. “What was she asking?” she says, biting the inside of her cheek. She’s aware she’ll block out what’s going on around her at times, but she hadn’t known others would notice, too. “Do you remember anything in specific?”

“Your fight with Orochimaru was caught on video, I guess,” Naruto says, unbending his legs and stuffing his hands into his pockets. The tip of his nose is red from the cold. “Jiraiya told her about it. She was asking if you’d ever lost control cause you got pinned before, or if that was just a one time thing. I just said you didn’t _like_ it, because no one likes it, but you always win so it doesn’t matter, but then she was asking about how you were with people, and if you ever talked about your brother. So I told them the truth because honestly, Kakashi-sensei or one of our Academy instructors could’ve told them the exact same thing. I heard Jiraiya say something about detachment and panic response, and I didn’t really understand it, but it didn’t sound good.”

She adjusts herself against the the tree she leans on, uncomfortable with the knowledge that she probably wouldn’t have advanced if Konoha weren’t desperate. “Well, whatever you said made them think there’s something wrong with me,” she says, because now the Godaime’s questions make sense. “So thanks.”

“Sasuke, there _is_ something wrong with you,” he says, taking Sasuke again by surprise. “You’re, like, insanely good, and I didn’t even know that until the Land of Waves, and you get scared way more easily than a normal kunoichi, and normal people don’t sleep past noon or not sleep at all for days and still figure out two whole family histories. Even I know that’s not good.”

“I’m fine,” she says, though even to her the words sound overused and tired. “You’re wrong. And isn’t that—isn’t that a little hypocritical? No one thought you were any good at all until a month ago. And I was just tired from saving your life.”

“Yeah, from your brother,” he says, “who everyone used to say went crazy, so after you freaked out during our spar, people said maybe you were going to go crazy, too—”

“I’m not like him!”

“—But I grew up around a lot of other orphans, and I know you and Sakura think I’m stupid, but I’ve heard stuff, and you freaking out didn’t seem crazy, and then you had that panic attack during that seminar last year and during the bell test and the fight with Orochimaru, and I didn’t want to say anything, but you’re not the only one who can put stuff together, okay? Sakura already did, too. That I didn’t tell anyone, though.”

For a moment, Sasuke can’t breathe. Naruto’s looking at her with wide, wary eyes, waiting for her response, but she doesn’t know to say. When Kakashi-sensei found out, she had to tell him; no one was supposed to figure out on their own. No one is supposed to know. Though Kakashi-sensei said it wasn’t her fault what happened, it still marks her as someone weak—is still marking her as someone weak, because Naruto’s right, and normal kunoichi don’t get scared the way she does.

When a minute goes by, and she still hasn’t answered, he stands to walk around the fire, and sit directly in front of her instead. “I never really had a friend until you and Sakura, you know,” he says, “so no one’s really supposed to know about the whole jinchuriki thing, but I’m actually kind of relieved you know now. I get how much it sucks to be on your own.”

He’s not meant to be intuitive, and he’s not meant to be the sort of boy who turns a conversation about himself back to her. But he did, and Sasuke is left trying to put herself back together after so effectively being taken apart. “You can’t tell anyone,” she says finally. “Not this, not anything. I don’t think we’d be allowed on the same team if people found out what I can do.”

“Yeah, I know,” he says, and doesn’t press for details. “You can still stay over if you want. Bet you’ve never had a sleepover before, either.”

“I’ll think about it,” she answers, and, to her surprise, means it.

When he leans forward to hug her, she flinches at first, then relaxes, and after a moment, wraps her arms around him, too.

 

 

Two days later, Sasuke and Naruto arrive at the border village. It’s small, constructed of one floor homes and shops and narrow empty roads with the snow pressed flat from pedestrian traffic. The tallest building is an inn at the center of town located on the only street with shops. Since there are no addresses on any of the buildings, they have to ask the innkeeper for directions for Hikari Ryuu’s house, and follow a sloppily drawn map on a napkin in order to find it.

He answers the door on the third knock in sleeping clothes with his dark hair mussed and forehead creased. “Oh, hello,” he says as Sasuke and Naruto glance to each other, and she sees her own confusion reflected in her friend’s face. “And here I thought spine injuries were too serious for Konoha to try and take me back. Well, I’m not going, so I guess your business is done here.”

“Hey,” Naruto says as the man begins to slid the door shut, “we didn’t come to bring you back or anything. We’re here because _you_ asked for _her_.”

With the door half closed, Hikari Ryuu pauses, and looks past Naruto to Sasuke. “You?” he says, leaning heavily now against the wall, staring down at her with sharp grey eyes. There’s a scar across his neck as though someone tried to slit it, and something about his features reminds her too much of a crow. “Oh, shit. You’re the Uchiha girl, aren’t you?”

“I’m Uchiha Sasuke, yes,” she says, meeting his gaze as his flicker of recognition disappears. “This is Uzumaki Naruto. Konoha received information from Hikari Ryuu that there was hostile activity near the border, and you requested my help.”

As he slides the door open again, he says, “The two of you should come in.”

Inside is simply designed with the same movable wooden and rice paper paneling found in her own home. In the living room where he leads them, there’s a hearth on the far wall with a fire burning steadily, a bin of children’s toys, a single couch and low table, and a wall of books. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a flurry of dark curls and a yellow dress, and then a woman comes into view, picking up a squirming daughter no older than four. The mother’s only wrapped in a bathrobe. It’s early in the day, but it takes the sight of this domesticity for Sasuke to remember today’s a Sunday.

“This won’t take long, Yuna,” Hikari Ryuu says as his wife chides their daughter for leaving the kitchen. Two pairs of green eyes glitter in the firelight. “I’ll make breakfast.”

“We’re sorry for coming so early,” Naruto says, or more accurately blurts, though he isn’t the one with memories lazy Sunday mornings spent coaxing an exhausted older brother out of bed, or trying to help an exasperated mother prepare breakfast for four.

Hikari Ryuu tells them it’s all right, and his wife echoes before leaving, pausing briefly to raise an eyebrow at her husband while their daughter continues to struggle. “I never sent for you, or anyone in Konoha,” he says once his wife and daughter are gone. “No one here did. There just isn’t suspicious activity to warrant it. There’s been a mistake.”

If there was no real call for help, then this must be a trap, and requesting Sasuke is almost a guarantee for Naruto come along, too. Realistically, the Land of Grass isn’t terribly far from the Land of Rain.

“Have you seen anyone in black cloaks with red clouds on them?” she asks, and Naruto glances at her, surprise flitting across his face. “Or has anyone from new come from out of town that seems like they might be a shinobi?”

Shaking his head, Hikari Ryuu says, “The only strangers to show up in days are you. Red clouds? Black cloaks? Uchiha, I don’t know what you’re on about, but the Akatsuki’s been disbanded since the War.”

A feeling like an electric shock sparks behind her ribs, because though the photo in the library book gave her a possibility, this is a confirmation of where her brother is. For one reason or anything, he’s in Amegakure, but that doesn’t explain why he tried to attack Naruto.

“Wait,” she says as Naruto begins to say they should leave. “I know you want to get back to your family, but can you answer a question first? Just something quick?” Though clearly confused again, the man agrees, and she continues, “What do you know what the Akatsuki? I know they were a rebel group fighting corruption, and I know they were lead by a man named Yahiko, but were they disbanded because they won or because they lost?”

“Honestly,” Hikari Ryuu says, “I don’t think anyone really knows. Amegakure’s a mess. Always has been. That civil war made the one in Kiri look like a fun time. But if there’s anyone in the Akatsuki left, the group can’t be that big. Do the two of you need anything else?”

This is a trap, and Sasuke knows the sooner they leave the better. They say they don’t, and all bid each other goodbye, but before they leave, Naruto asks, “If you didn’t actually know we were coming, how’d you know who Sasuke was right away?”

They’re out on the front step now, packs shouldered and ready to go. Hikari Ryuu says, “Don’t you have eyes, kid? She’s like a mini Itachi. Have a good trip home.”

With that, he shuts the door in their faces, leaving them in a stunned silence. “Are you,” Naruto starts to say, but Sasuke just shakes her head. She spent a month trying to shed her brother’s image only to have it thrown at her again at the furthest reaches of her country, far away from home.

“Let’s get out of here,” she says, and dutifully, he follows just a step behind.

 

 

During Naruto’s month training with Jiraiya, he learned how to Summon, and sends a frog with a message home that this might have been a trap just in case something happens. It would have made the most sense to attack them before they arrived, as now they’re expecting it, which only makes Sasuke more anxious. Whoever set them up wants them alert, which is as good as turning this into a game, and she still has nightmares of Orochimaru stalking her through the Forest of Death.

It’s midday now, and they’ve stopped for a short rest near a brook to refill their water canteens. The sky above the bare treetops is cloudless and a pale blue, the sun shining clearly and coolly so it reflects blindingly off the relatively untouched now. Despite the sunlight, it’s colder than it was yesterday with the snow higher from another storm last night. When they left, she and Naruto both dressed sensibly in white coats, but her hair makes her the darkest thing around. The few squirrels with their long fur-tipped ears chattering in the branches above them are the only living creatures in sight, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t other shinobi in the forest with them.

As they stand to leave, she sees a flicker on her right, and activates her Sharingan just in time to see five chakra signatures closing in on them. Without giving Naruto warning, she shoves him aside, both narrowly avoiding a shuriken from behind, and when she lifts her head, she finds it embedded in a stone in front of them.

Before she can react or attack, her teammate’s hand is on her arm, gripping her tightly, pulling her away from a dome of earth erupting from the snow that traps of three of the clones he’d created simultaneously inside. They land in the brook, the cold water seeping through Sasuke’s clothes and momentarily making it hard to breathe, but she doesn’t stay down for long. Not far to their left is a girl shouting curses and insults to a teammate as a boy with two bodies appears in front and over Sasuke and Naruto. He’s still pushing himself up on bloody hands; she’s on her knees. Even downed, though, she’s more dangerous than her opponent seems to anticipate, because he isn’t fast enough when she lashes out with her left hand, lightning extending from her fingers, cutting through the hearts of his bodies.

He falls lifeless into the ground, holes in his chests leaking blood onto the snow, a corpse before either mouth had a chance to even speak.

The forest is silent. Sasuke, not allowing her teammate the time to get over the shock that she just killed someone without a moment’s hesitation, takes Naruto by the back of his coat and forces him to run, pulling her hood over her head as she does so.

Since logic dictates to try and make it back to Konoha, they first run southeast, but then Naruto’s arms around her waist forcing her to skid to a halt is the only thing that stops her from colliding into a tangle of gigantic spiderwebs. It’s spread out in front of them, and around to the north, leaving them to find a way around by either going back the way they came, or west. They’re being corralled. The boy she killed had an Oto-nin forehead protector rather than an Akatsuki cloak, which inevitably means they’re after her, but the Land of Sound is northeast from here. Amegakure, though, is southwest. If they’re forced close enough to the Land of Rain for someone to notice Naruto is nearby, or if the two groups are working together, this could easily separate them. Given her experiences with these two by now, she doubts she’s overthinking this.

But they know the Land of Fire better than their opponents, and they already sent for word back home. “So I guess we’re fighting?” Naruto says, and she nods, because fighting feels better than running anyway.

They go back the way they came just far enough to safely enter the ice-slicked treetops where their last three opponents quickly join them. “That was your best move, wasn’t it, Uchiha?” says a girl with a voice like offbeat song, twirling a flute between her fingers. She, like her teammates, has black lines spreading steadily across her bodies from a point on her shoulders. “Shouldn’t have—”

She doesn’t finish. Itachi’s shurikenjutsu was designed to combat multiple opponents at once, and electrifying ordinary metal weapons doesn’t require the type of chakra that creating pure concentrated lightning does. They try to dodge, but even the attacks that don’t connect can cause damage as long as they’re close enough. Naruto, with the help of a clone, creates a Rasengan that he slams into the largest one the moment his back is turned trying to evade a shuriken. As the force of it sends him flying past Sasuke, now finished, suspending him in midair so he’s fully vulnerable, she turns, and throws an normal kunai solidly into his chest.

 _Two down_ , she thinks as his back cracks against a branch, and he falls as dead weight to hard ground far below them. This time Naruto doesn’t seem so shocked. Their last opponents are injured severely, burned and bleeding, but changing.

There’s nothing they can do, though, about their positions on the tall, icy branches so high off the ground. She’s breathing hard, but Naruto’s barely winded. “What the,” he starts the say as their opponents’ bodies change shape.

“Do something,” Sasuke snaps, putting aside her own confusion and focusing on the girl as she lifts the flute to her lips. The genjutsu is working already, but Sasuke doesn’t understand why the other girl even bothers trying.

With the Sharingan, she stops the genjutsu before it can form as Naruto attacks the boy with his clones. The girl, neglecting her flute, switches to taijutsu as Sasuke gets closer, catching her punch faster than she expected. It doesn’t matter that much, though; being skilled in genjutsu herself doesn’t give the girl any advantage against the Sharingan. As she twists Sasuke around, she pushes herself the other way, ignoring the pain in her arm, and catches the girl’s eye. She screams, so shrill it’s painful, and Sasuke grabs the flute, snapping it half and pushing her off the branch. Her body breaks against a rock formation, the crack of her bones loud enough to hear from here, and Sasuke doesn’t notice the arrow until it pierces through her right shoulder.

For a moment, she’s falling too, but it’s a straight down fall and she still has enough presence of mind to flow the right amount of chakra into her left hand and catch herself on a branch below. Naruto shouts her name, and when she looks up, she sees his body glowing red.

She scrambles onto the branch as uncoordinated as she was when she began to teach herself, and grits her teeth against the pain and the cold air now breezing through the tear in her coat. When she looks up again, she finds a mass of clones and webs above her, and their opponent hidden in the trees. Before she can call out to Naruto that the boy is readying his bow, she senses someone coming up from behind her, and narrowly avoids an attack, deflecting a blow with her last kunai. She blinks, confused at the sound it makes, and realizes her blade just connected with bone.

There’s a boy again not much older than she is with hair a shade darker than Kakashi-sensei’s, and two red dots above his eyes. The bone comes from his knuckle, from his skin. It elongates suddenly, forcing her to jump away to avoid it removing her eye—but he’s taller than she is, significantly, so she can’t leave the reach of his arm without falling off the branch herself. In a moment, he has a hand on her injured shoulder, forcing her back against the trunk of the tree.

Above them, her original opponent’s managed to lead Naruto away.

“Did you kill these three all yourself?” he asks, looking her over with blank, calculating eyes. “They were as skilled as your jounin, those three. Maybe you’re not such an unworthy replacement after all.”

Rather than answer, she tries to attack again with the kunai she still has in hand, but the sharp edge connects uselessly with an exposed rib. Like his teammate, though, he does nothing to protect his eyes, and falls into a genjutsu as easily as she did. Sasuke does it as if it’s easy. As if she isn’t rapidly losing strength will every attack she makes.

Pain will wake him, and she doesn’t want to risk hurting herself any further on his sharpened ribs. Instead she maneuvers around him, and shoves him off the branch.

He wakes too early, breaking from the genjutsu as he’s falling. There’s a rushing feeling in her head from exhaustion, and she doesn’t react fast enough to avoid his hand closing around her ankle. Maybe he’s hoping to anchor himself, or maybe he knows he can survive, but she’s too light to keep herself grounded on the ice. The momentum of his fall drags her down so she’s tumbling without any chance of saving herself, without teammate nearby to help, and—

Then she’s on the ground, alive and aching but with no bones broken. She must have passed out for a moment in the air, because she thought—dreamed—she’d rolled harmlessly on something hard in a world of stillness and grey. Now she’s breathing in the winter air, bleeding freely from her shoulder onto the snow as her Sharingan deactivates and her vision dims. She blinks, and watches her opponent pull himself to his feet. Blinks again, and he’s gone.

All she hears is his shout, the noise almost lost in the wind. She tries to move, but pain radiates from her shoulder so intensely she gasps at the sharpness of it.

There’s someone behind her as she loses the battle against her body and her eyes slide closed. “You’re pretty fucked up, Sasuke,” she thinks a muffled, murky voice is saying, but it’s too unfamiliar and she’s too close to unconsciousness to be sure, “so there aren’t a whole lot of options anymore. But you’re not half bad, and I’m going to need you sooner or later, so I’ll tell you what. I’m giving you those better eyes a little early.”

She dreams, half-conscious, that she’s a child again crouching with Shisui in her grandmother’s lilacs, wearing some lacy summer dress she sewed just weeks before. There are shadows across his face dyed purple from the sunlight shining sheer through the petals. His eyes are bleeding, and look like Itachi’s. _Regain sight and gain clarity_ , he says, which are the unexplained lines on the back wall of the shrine beneath the description of the Mangekyo Sharingan, _from the sacrifice of blood_. She blinks her child eyes, and asks, _Did Itachi really kill you?_ but already her cousin is saying _With these eyes my brother_ _gave me_ like Madara’s scroll. _With these eyes his sister gave him. Does Sasuke want those better eyes?_

In the dream, the moon eclipses the sun as Shisui’s eyes disappear, and the scene around them decays into what it is now, because a slippery, sick realization is washing over her. In the waking world, the half-conscious part of her is aware of someone standing over her again, and she forces herself to open her eyes. She sees for a moment a red circle like another, better eye, or a red circle like a dot on the forehead of a boy who can control bones. With a sudden surge of strength she pushes herself up, and drives a Chidori she barely felt herself forming through her opponent’s chest.

He coughs once. She feels first his heart stop beating. Then she sees a shock of yellow like a wheat field in the sunlight, and blue eyes like the summertime sky at high noon, and finally takes in the face of her friend in its entirety.

Her scream is thin and clear, piercing the still air as her eyes burn from change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is fast, but last chance to vote ships, because I'm not doing anything til post timeskip anyway and this story is officially not going the way I planned in the slightest.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasuke develops the Mangekyo Sharingan and learns to cope with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe how long it's been since I updated this. I went abroad for my final semester and only had time to write poetry really.

The genjutsu breaks with the feeling cold air ripping at Sasuke’s skin, and a cloth winding around her shoulder. Slowly, the image of Naruto fades into the sight of two red eyes with three curved lines spinning.

“Sasuke,” her brother says as she tries to get away, stopping her with an arm around her back to keep her steady, his other hand too close to her injury, “it wasn’t real. Your friend is alive. Stay still. _Sasuke._ ”

There’s a moment where Sasuke is too disoriented to understand what’s happening, that the only blood on her arm is her own, and Itachi is bandaging her wound. “What are you,” she starts to say as reality regains solid form, only to cut herself off with a flinch of pain as he ties the bandage tight. The air feels thin in her lungs. “Where’s Naruto? Where’s the Oto-nin? Why’re you helping me? What’s wrong with my eyes?”

Her vision is clearer than it’s ever been, even with the Sharingan. Every snowflake has its individual shape, and every shard of off-white bone scattered across the ground still glitters with the residue of a dead man’s chakra. With Itachi leaning over her, past her, only the profile of his face visible in her peripheral, so sharp in its resolution that she can see the slight irregularity in his breathing with every cloud of condensation that escapes from his mouth. His chakra fluctuations, spiking and coiling near his temples from anxiety or maybe even fear.

“Your friend,” Itachi says, much too calmly, in the tone he used when she was young and their parents were arguing, “is looking for you right now, I imagine. The Oto-nin is dead. Sasuke, you. You developed the Mangekyo Sharingan from an illusion.”

As he stands, he pulls her with him so she’s no long in the snow, tugging the sleeve of her coat over her shoulder. “Genjutsu doesn’t work on me,” she says, because she doesn’t want this and doesn’t like what developing it like this implies. “But there was a—what’re you—Itachi—”

“Concentrate,” he says. His tone turns sharp, dragging her away from the pained, exhausted dazed she’d fallen into. “Who found out—”

Red dot like a red eye like the Sharingan, she thinks, and Itachi’s one of the few people in the world now who can use a successful genjutsu on her. He also has reason why he would want her eyes to evolve, but for Naruto to stay alive. “Why do you care?” she says, struggling to get free as her vision fades back its dull normality, her chakra depleted too much for her to maintain her Sharingan even in its most basic form. “What, can you not do it? Do you think you’ll be able to if you implant my Sharingan? Worried Konoha would keep me close if they knew?”

“How did you—”

“I can read, Itachi,” she snaps, filled with a little sister’s indignation that time and experience never quite erased. “I know you’re going blind, and I know your partner is Kisame of Kiri, and that it must take siblings to transplant another Mangekyo Sharingan or you would’ve taken Shisui’s years ago, and you know what, I don’t even care anymore. You’ve already got me injured and cornered. Just make sure you actually kill me this time because I think everyone’s established by now that I’m useless without my Sharingan anyway.”

Though she tries her hardest to stop it, her voice cracks, and she flinches at the feeling of fingers against her face, pushing away her hair. “What happened to you?” he asks in a voice that would probably sound unchanged to most, but in it, she can still detect the hint of confusion leaking through.

She’s confused, too, at first, because she thinks the answer should be obvious enough, before she thinks of how strange his reaction to her was during their encounter in the hallway. “Have you been checking in on me?” she says. He doesn’t answer, and his expression is unreadable. “You know, whatever, everyone else seems to know—I was raped, as a kid, walking home alone at night, and all I wanted was my brother, even though you’d already ruined _everything._ ”

It’s the first time she’s ever said what happened to her aloud so bluntly, without being forced, and she can feel Itachi’s disbelief in the rigidness of his stance. She wonders idly what they would look like to any stranger, the two of them so close in appearance with their black hair and white skin and dark eyes that she can’t rid herself of him even when she tries. Killing him would be a wasted effort; after what he’s done, she doesn’t want to be like him more than she already is. With him gone, she’s heir to the clan, and she’s better than that.

Then, there’s a noise like the crack of wood somewhere far off, and she and her brother look up at the same moment. “I truly am sorry, Sasuke,” he says, drawing her eyes back to him, but his are shifted into the Mangekyo Sharingan now, and she doesn’t have time or energy to activate her own.

The genjutsu comes this time with an awareness that she’s trapped, and series of images she doesn’t understand—a mask of swirled orange, a single Mangekyo Sharingan with a pattern she’s never seen, black flames and skeletal creatures, the walls of the shrine glowing brighter than before—but with them is an overbearing feeling to stay away. Not from Itachi, but the masked man. It’s done in a cold rush of fear, harsh and barbed, that she feels latch itself to her like physical wire buried into that instinctive part of her that knows when to be afraid.

When the genjutsu breaks, she’s disoriented and out of touch, and shoved between two large protruding roots of a nearby tree so her bloody arm is hidden by shadow. “Don’t move,” he tells her before she can gather herself enough to speak, and throws her hood over her head.

With that, he’s gone, but barely a moment passes before she hears the voice of Hoshigaki Kisame call, “Itachi! Ita—what the _fuck?_ ”

She suppresses her chakra, snuffing out her signature abruptly, and a boot crunches across bone shards from the other side of the root. Fabric rustles, and snow flattens beneath footfalls, but it’s a full minute of silence until Kisame of Kiri runs off to where her brother had gone.

 

 

An hour later, or maybe less, Naruto finds Sasuke before she can find him. “Kakashi-sensei!” he says immediately, pulling at her coat, checking her over. “I got her!”

His hood’s thrown off, hair gleaming in low dusk light like a spark of leftover daytime, whisker lines made more prominent by the cold flush across his cheeks. There’s not a mark on him to indicate he’s been injured. As he peers at her bloody shoulder, babbling questions, she steps forward to close the gap of personal space he leaves between them, and hugs him with her uninjured arm. Under his coat, she can feel his heart beating and his chest moving every time he breathes, and despite Itachi telling her Naruto was alive, now she finally allows herself to believe it. He’s here, she didn’t kill him, and somehow, she developed the Mangekyo Sharingan from a _hallucination._

From the way Itachi sounded when he explained that, she thinks this isn’t normal.

“Hey,” Kakashi-sensei says from behind her, close but not enough so to touch as she becomes aware for the first time that Naruto’s fallen silent, “you’re both safe, Sasuke. But come here so the medical-nin can fix up your shoulder.”

For a moment, she doesn’t move, and neither of them try to make her. Then she backs away from her friend—who’s breathing, heart beating, chakra flowing, _alive_ —to her sensei, who takes her surprisingly gently by the elbow of her uninjured arm. Naruto watches them unblinkingly as Kakashi-sensei leads her over to an unfamiliar woman hanging back by a cluster of rocks, waiting. She introduces herself as Rei while clipping back her hair, and asks if Sasuke she could mind Rei pushing down her sleeve. There’s an odd, almost wary way that she says it, and Sasuke realizes someone must have mentioned she isn’t good with people touching her.

She agrees, and Rei pushes down the sleeve with quick, deft fingers, trying to keep the act of peeling fabric from a wound as painless as possible. Her hair’s like Shikamaru’s, cypress bark brown, strands falling out of the clip over her thin, freckled face that’s too narrow for her body. She pauses, those fingers hovering right above Sasuke’s shoulder, and asks, “Did you do this?”

Before she can answer, Jiraiya appears from the trees, his white hair blending him into the landscape more successfully than a hood. “There’s a body in the clearing a couple miles back,”  he says to Kakashi-sensei, “all torn up, and a lot of blood and a lot of bones.” Then, turning to her, ignoring the surprised reactions of everyone else, he says, “Who helped you?”

 _How do you know I didn’t do it myself?_ she almost asks, but stops herself, because she couldn’t have, and she knows it. “My brother,” she says, and instantly, Naruto goes stiff and the medical-nin retracts her hand as though afraid to catch a contagious curse. “Or, I think—he was there, but he was confused. The person Orochimaru sent couldn’t be injured, even after falling off a tree. That fall knocked me out for a minute or something, because I woke up, and he was dead.”

Next to her, Rei takes a deep breath, the noise of it rattling and rough. “Well, you’re bleeding through your bandage, Uchiha,” she says, “and your pupils are dilated enough that I think you might have a concussion. No one’s asking her anything until I’m done fixing her.”

Sasuke’s head hasn’t felt right since she first landed on the ground, but too much happened to think anything of it. “Yeah,” she says, “okay,” and let’s the medical-nin undo the bandages. Jiraiya and Kakashi-sensei stand at the edge of the clearing, speaking in low voices, while Naruto inches closer to be by Sasuke’s side.

“Is she going to be okay?” he says. “Is her arm going to work right still?”

“There’s a lot of damage, but nothing I haven’t worked with before,” Rei says, and Sasuke grits her teeth against the pain as the healing begins. The cold is welcome, numbing her body to keep the knitting of skin and muscle from becoming unbearable. “Hold still.”

Healing her takes longer she expects, and longer than they have. By the time the medical-nin finishes, the sky is dark and the moon nestled by clouds and stars. Its light catches every mound of snow, every sheet of ice on every branch, and turns the dried blood still on her clothes from deep red to pitch black. She wonders how she looks, dressed in white as she is with her hair blacker than the blood.

With her head clearer, she realizes for the first time exactly how much that conversation with her brother was a mistake. As Kakashi-sensei beckons for the three of them, claiming they’ll talk when they stop for camp far enough away, she’s already editing and revising what happened, trimming down to the important pieces, and what’s safe to say. Lying doesn’t feel right, but explaining why she thought it could be him might result in the Godaime keeping her in Konoha. Now that Orochimaru’s made his second active attempt to capture her, that may happen regardless.

They stop near midnight, or so Sasuke guesses, in a grove under a canopy so thick even leafless that there’s hardly any snow on the ground at all. While the others make camp, Kakashi-sensei brings her right outside the edge of the grove, still in view but with the illusion of privacy. “I know we didn’t really get a chance to talk before I left,” he says, hands in his pockets, “but I spoke to Jiraiya after I got back, on the way here. He said you attacked your brother’s partner, but they didn’t attack you.”

There’s a question in his words, though not explicitly stated, and he looks down at her with his one visible eye expectantly. Everyone lately seems to be looking at her as though they expect something, but she’s not much of anything. The girl who’s impervious to genjutsu just had her mind toyed with twice. Some Uchiha heir she is.

“He left me alive when he killed everyone else,” she says bluntly, wrapping her arms around her knees, making herself small. “Must mean he cares or something.”

She’s sitting on a rock half hidden by white dusted underbrush, too tired to remain standing. After a beat of silence, he crouches down to that same level, seeming to say that this is a conversation rather than an interrogation. “I’m not complaining that he helped you,” he says, careful as he was in the Land of Waves. “Showing up in the middle of the woods like that, though? When you had Naruto with you? Graduation requirements were made harder after he was officially declared a missing-nin for a reason. Itachi won’t care about you the same way he used to.”

It’s strange hearing someone other than herself use her brother’s name with any hint of familiarity. “I figured that out a while ago,” she says. “Um. How did he get into Konoha undetected? No one’s told me anything.”

“All defenses have their weak points,” he answers, folding his arms over his legs. “Your brother was an ANBU long enough to figure them out.”

“So you know them too, don’t you? Because you worked with him.”

It’s not a question. There’s a pause, short but potent, and then Kakashi-sensei nods. “For a little while.”

“Are there any near my house?” Again, he pauses, longer this time—so long the silence itself is her answer. “Oh, of—” She takes a deep breath, breaking apart the sentence before it can start. Her hands are facing towards her on her thighs, her eyes pressed to her palms, and she tries to focus on the feeling of the cold as a way to ground herself. Her heart’s still beating too far from the genjutsu, suffering the effects of secondhand fear.

Kakashi-sensei waits for the panic to subside. “Did he say anything about sneaking in before when you talked?” he asks when it does.

Raising her head, she answers, “Not explicitly,” and explains briefly about the open door. “I know. I should’ve noticed.”

“You might not have registered it the way you do now,” he says, “but you felt his chakra consistently for five years. When you’re tired enough and safe in your own home and there wasn’t any noise, it’s not that surprising. Did he say anything else to you? Or do anything else?”

Though she wants to answer that their conversation didn’t last long, that this was it, she knows she can’t hide everything. Wordlessly, she activates the Mangekyo Sharingan. His eye widens, surprise clear. Just as quickly, she deactivates it, and looks away, out towards the camp where Naruto pokes at the fire with a stick so sparks jump, twisting into the air before fizzling out.

Kakashi-sensei stands up, knees creaking audibly from where the cartilage’s worn thin. “I know how that’s formed,” he says. She doesn’t know what hers looks like, but she imagines they’re like her brother’s. The similarity to him is prominent enough in the rest of her appearance, after all. When she was younger, all she wanted was to look like Mom. “How?”

“Your Sharingan is probably weaker than mine because there’s only one, and it’s implanted,” she says, harsher than she intends, and he lifts his visible eyebrow, “but he has _two_ , and it was the Mangekyo while mine were just normal, and his are natural, so he’s just better than me, okay? I don’t know why he wanted my eyes to improve, but he did, and Naruto’s right, and it’s really hard to block a genjutsu from someone better than you with a _concussion._ ”

Having the Mangekyo Sharingan should be an advantage against Orochimaru or even the Akatsuki, but she still has her friend’s words echoing in her head. Itachi hadn’t done this to her, she knows, because his shock was too evident. Children of seven aren’t meant to experience the Tsukuyomi, and they certainly aren’t meant to survive, but she had. Her apathy broke during her fight with Orochimaru in the Forest of Death when she experienced that feeling again, and right now, she’d do anything to have that back.

Rather than tell her off for allowing herself to be caught so easily, Kakashi-sensei just sighs, and slouches so his shadow falls over her. “Did he trick you into thinking you saw Naruto die?” he says, coming to the most logical conclusion, and she nods without specifying she saw herself as the one that killed her friend rather than Itachi or the Oto-nin. “That’s not—” He runs a hand down his face. “ _How?_ What did Naruto say?”

“That there’s something wrong me,” she says. “That people think I’m going to end up like my brother. I know what that means. It’s why the Godaime decided to question me before I advanced, and you’ve always watched out for me so much—”

“Sasuke—”

“Because you think I’m at risk of doing something like that, too.”

It’s not a question. She doesn’t know where the sudden burst of anger comes from, but for once she just wants someone to tell her what they think. There’s an unsteadiness to her again, as though she’s back on the ice slicked tree branch moments away from falling. Weeks have passed since the chuunin exam, since Naruto and Sakura put together what happened on that lonely walk home; it’s been six months since her sensei first confronted her about her behavior, and began watching her closer than the others. _You have no idea what I can do_ , she thinks as she looks up at him. _You wouldn’t want to._

Then Kakashi-sensei sighs, and some of the aggravation bleeds away. “Yes,” he says, as blunt as she was earlier. “You aren’t unstable enough to be discharged, but you’re still unstable enough to be considered a danger to yourself. But you aren’t considered a danger to others, or you wouldn’t have been allowed to graduate. It’s not the same.”

For her graduation to be involved, this “concern” had to have started in the Academy, but all they did there was drop one ignored pamphlet on her desk, and then push her into someone who knew her brother so he could handle her instead. At that thought, the anger dissipates in its entirety, because that doesn’t seem fair to Kakashi-sensei, either.

“You need sleep,” he says, holding out his hand to help her up. “If you want, you can yell at me in the morning.”

An owl hoots the branches above them as she stands. “You can stop,” she tells him. “Nothing’s going to happen to me.”

He sighs again, but doesn’t answer. When they reenter the camp, Naruto and the medical-nin are already asleep, and Jiraiya’s watching over the fire. She curls up in her sleeping roll set out next to her friend, and despite her rapidly moving thoughts, is out within minutes.

 

 

Sleeping comes easily more often than not, but after another round of questioning from the Godaime and too many hugs from Sakura, Sasuke finds herself staring at her ceiling, listening to the wind blowing between the houses outside.

Though she doesn’t want to admit it, she knows the reason. Genjutsu from someone as powerful as her brother has a lasting effect, and he poured fear inside her as a warning against a stranger. It leaves her itching to do something, even if tomorrow, already, she needs to report back to the Hokage’s tower to receive another mission. Even when “considered a danger to herself,” she’s still Uchiha Sasuke. Still valuable. Still the perfect bait for two missing-nin Konoha wants dead.

Eventually, she gives up trying and goes to the shrine again, slipping into the back room after a quick check that the seals haven’t been disturbed. With the enhanced vision of the Mangekyo Sharingan, she can finally read everything without help so the words gleam red and orange on the wall, the glow of them dancing as though they were written with firelight. It shows her even more than she found before, on her own, with descriptions and instructions for every technique the Mangekyo Sharingan can give her. She thinks it might be worth going blind if she has the chance to kill Orochimaru before he can hurt her or anyone else.

Some time between faking Shisui’s suicide and the massacre, Itachi must have come in here and read all this, too. Though she’s always known the Sharingan is the most powerful kekkei genkai in Konoha, she hadn’t realized the true extent of that gap before. They have fire that can burn flames and ice in equal measure, the ability access to separate dimension no one else can touch, a genjutsu so strong it can distort time and space. Whether she can use all of these or only some, it hardly matters, because even one grants her a type of power she’s never had before.

Despite how she formed it, she finally feels as though she has some control. The spike of guilt she feels at the thought isn’t enough to dampen her relief at that.

 

 

Days pass, and Sasuke spends her nights jumping at the slightest sound. It’s a bite to her pride when she goes to Naruto to find if his offer was still stands, but worse is learning he doesn’t have the opportunity to uphold it even if he wanted.

“Come with us,” he says as he eats his ramen, and hers grows cold in its chipped plastic bowl. “Going alone sounds boring anyway.”

They’re sitting at his lone table, pale light sneaking reluctantly through his windows as Jiraiya lounges on the threadbare couch, his presence filling all the gaps in the room. Though he doesn’t speak, she can feel his eyes watching her. It’s a distrustful look, but she wouldn’t trust someone, either, who appeared bloody and bandaged and talking about the village horror story as though he didn’t deserve the title.

When she imagines spending months with another adult who thinks her mind is delicate, her skin pricks, and she knows even debating it is worthless. “No thanks,” she says, averting her eyes from her teammate’s face to the cold noodles she can barely tolerate warm. “Sakura’s training with the Hokage now. Can’t leave Kakashi-sensei without a team.”

Naruto frowns uncharacteristically, which she makes him do too often. “Kakashi-sensei’s going to be on missions all the time,” he says, chopsticks held midair with noodles dangling rudely from their hold. When she shrugs, he adds, “What else are you going to do? You’ll probably get stuck with people way less cool than us.”

Again, she shrugs. It’s not that other people would be boring; they’d just be hard work. “Everyone else our age has a team with a sensei already,” she says. “Maybe I’ll get solo missions.”

This is doubtful with Orochimaru hunting her and Itachi too watchful, but the village is desperate. Having no one sounds good. Besides, Sakura won’t be far, and Kakashi-sensei will be around enough. Sasuke’s never needed much company before. And if she is caught, there are safety measures. She doesn’t mind killing herself if it means Orochimaru can never have her.

Face paling in disagreement, Naruto says, “No _way._ That’s just being stupid.”

As is commonplace now, this stupidity is unique to her. Every young shinobi dreams of the honor of earning a solo mission. “Yeah,” she says in a mumble. “Whatever.”

“You can’t force her to come,” Jiraiya says suddenly as Naruto goes to argue, bristling at the thought that she doesn’t want to follow him. “We should draw as little attention to ourselves as possible anyway.”

“I better go,” she says over Naruto’s insistence that training’s going to draw attention regardless. His gaze snaps to her as she stands. “I’ll see you when you get back.”

She ignores, too, the way he abruptly gets to his feet as she moves towards the door. In a brief moment’s decision, though, she switches direction, and steps in front of the one legendary sannin she can speak to plainly instead. “Don’t even _think_ about doing what you did last time,” she says, because Naruto is her friend, and she wants him safe, “because—”

“Sasuke, what—”

“—my brother broke out that thing you thought couldn’t be broken without even trying,” she continues, “which means he’s better than you. If Naruto gets killed, or worse—”

Then there’s a grip on her arm, making her startle as she realizes too late how silly that was, because it’s only her teammate. He drops his hand, lip caught better his teeth in apology, and the embarrassed silence stretches.

After a moment, Jiraiya straightens in his seat, and says, “You’ll kill me?”

He says it almost seriously, as though he doesn’t know entirely if that’s impossible. She meets his eyes, and tries to look brave. “Whatever Itachi could do to get Naruto,” she says, “I can do that, too.”

At that, any hint of amusement, real or faked, disappears. “Your brother’s a tough act to live up to,” he says. “I didn’t think you’d want to try.”

“I’ll be fine,” Naruto says, but his lighthearted tone seems forced, “and I’ll come back way better than you.”

Again, she ignores him. “Just promise,” she says to Jiraiya instead, because he needs to understand how little she cares about herself in comparison to her friends, “because I don’t, but I can.”

Just a week earlier, Kakashi-sensei told her no one thought she was a danger to others, but when Jiraiya says, entirely serious, “You don’t need to worry, kid,” she thinks that might not be true.

 

 

“Hey, Sasuke?” Sakura says when they meet up in the hospital employees’ room at her lunch hour five days after Naruto leaves. The room is eggshell white, the tables plastic and tarnish green, and like the rest of the hospital, smells sterilized. When Sasuke looks up from the mission file she brought with her bento, Sakura continues, “I’m moving out to be closer to the hospital. Can you move in so I can afford rent?”

Though Sasuke’s slept recently, it’s been a stressed sleep that feels little like rest at all, and she can’t tell if Sakura is genuinely asking for her own benefit. Hopefully she is. Charity from Naruto was humiliating enough, but Sasuke doesn’t want to be home anymore. She wakes up scared more often than not from dreams of the unfamiliar Mangekyo Sharingan watching her through her bedroom window.

“Your parents are okay with you moving out?” she says, because though she may want to accept, she remembers how parents are. Mom wandered aimlessly around the house cleaning what was already clean if Itachi was more than three hours later than his promised estimated time of return, which happened often.

Shifting uncomfortably in her seat, Sakura answers, “Not really. And I get I’m young, but they’ll be less worried if I have a roommate, you know?”

It’s a logical assumption, but parents don’t care much about logic. Even when Dad could barely spare a glance at her, he still had time to worry.

Sasuke’s good at making people worry.

“Yeah,” she says, and shuts her file, having memorized it. Any fear that the Godaime would keep her inside the village walls was unwarranted, she found; she’s been sent out consistently since Naruto left with whatever team needs a spare member regardless of rank. “Where?”

“Hinode Apartments?” Sakura says, cheeks coloring. “I know they’re kind of on the expensive side but they’re right near the center of town, and the money I’m making isn’t _that_ bad, and you’re a chuunin now on a lot of missions, so you’ve got an actual salary too. I figured we might be able to pull it off if you’re okay with that.”

Hinode Apartments are just outside the residential district, seated four blocks behind the stretch of markets, and half a town away from the Uchiha compound. Beyond that, Sasuke knows little about them, just as she knows little about most living quarters. “Okay,” she says. “I’ve got access to my inheritance now, if we can’t afford it yet.”

“Hopefully we can,” Sakura says, and pushes her hands through her short hair, pulling the top back into a ponytail. She can’t manage more than that. “I’ll start looking while you’re gone. See you in like a week?”

As Sasuke stands, knowing she should get to the front gate to meet with her new team, she says, “Probably three because of travel. I’ll go by the hospital first if I get back during the day.”

They separate outside the door, Sakura returning to her afternoon shift and Sasuke to the street. Agreeing to live with someone is never something she thought she’d do until recently, and she hopes she doesn’t regret it.

 

 

Come winter, the northern part of the Hidden Continent sees no sunlight for six months. A week and a half after Sakura convinces Sasuke to live with her, she sits close to her camp’s fire, wrapped in a thick woolen blanket with her knees to her chest and a scarf wrapped around the lower half of her face. Though the Land of Fire experiences snowfall, it’s never as cold as this, and the chill sets deeper than she’s ever felt until her lips are raw from it, and cheeks and nose red.

“I don’t like this,” she hears Asuma say to Kakashi a few feet away, voice low, as they gather rations from their bags. Genma, their fourth teammate, sits by her, tending the fire. “She’s going to freeze to death out here before we even find him. She’s a stick.”

They’re in the Land of Iron, illegally, tucked in a wooded mountain pass and dressed in civilian clothing. Even Kakashi’s without his mask, wrapped instead in a scarf like Sasuke’s that still covers his face with a bandage over his eye. They’re hunting a rogue Iwa-nin who attacked two of their genin teams like he’s still trapped in the war that ended before she was born whose bounty in the Bingo Book rivals her brother. Two months ago, even if she were a chuunin, she wouldn’t be involved. Now Konoha’s forces are depleted, and she’s a spare body meant to fill in the gaps left behind by Suna’s attack. She might be flattered if Asuma weren’t right, and she didn’t feel as though she were going to freeze first.

After a short pause, as though he spared a moment to look her way, Kakashi sighs. In one mission, he went from her sensei to her team leader. “I’ll teach her how to regulate her body temperature when we get back,” he says. His voice floats towards her on a gust of wind that blows her hair around her ears and face, cutting through every patch of exposed skin. “She’s an Uchiha. It won’t be that hard.”

Genma finishes, and dusts his hands of ash so it falls in dark flakes to the footsteps marked, dirtied snow at his feet. “Fire’s ready,” he says, breath coming out in puffs of steam, his nose as red as hers, as he slips back on his mittens. “We can make tea.” Then he looks to her, and inches closer, taking a seat at her side so she feels his body heat without physical contact. The other two return carrying tea leaves and cookware and strips of dried octopus to mix with cabbage in a pot. “Hold out for tonight, Sasuke,” he says lightly, casually, the tone forced and obscured by how rough the cold’s turned his voice, “and we’ll buy you nasu onigiri when we’re done with this.”

When she smiles, the cold cuts through her teeth so she shivers. “You can’t buy my survival with eggplant,” she says, words broken by chatter, which makes Kakashi laugh, any condensation caught by his scarf.

“Keep your sense of humor and you’ll be fine, kid,” Asuma says, and pulls his wool cap low on her head so it settles over her ears, covering her short hair almost entirely. She hasn’t owned a hat since she was ten, and she grew out of the one Shisui’s mother knit for her. Until the massacre, nearly everything she owned was made by the women in her family, who all died too soon to pass on any technique to her beyond a cross stitch.

In the distance, something cracks and crashes that Kakashi identifies as a glacier. The sky’s a deep grey in differing shades, rolled over by dark, snow heavy clouds, and the landscape is white and brown and green, dotted with evergreen trees. It would be beautiful in a wild sort of way if it weren’t so cold, and she breathes in the frigid air so it tears at her throat and freezes her blood, watching her former sensei make a dinner of snow, cabbage, and octopus with all faked looseness of a man who’s never held a kunai in his life.

 

 

Two days tracking lead Sasuke’s team to the village of Joryoku, where the people spoke caution of a man who controlled the winds and took up residences in the boreal forests on the outskirts. He leaves a purposeful, criss-cross trail that forces her and the others to separate and search individually. Kakashi takes north, Gai south, Asuma west, and she east. Chakra keeps her footsteps light and undetected atop the snow, and she has her scarf tucked into her coat to avoid it catching on stray twigs or bushes.  

Ryuumaru Akichi finds her at high noon, under the clear, forever night sky, in a narrow strip of the forest devoid of underbrush or the evergreen canopy. “They sent a chuunin after me?” he says after she evades his wind kunai thrown at her back, grinning to reveal gapped teeth with a chip on his canine and deep crow’s feet around his eyes. The pale moonlight catches the grey in his dark brown hair, turning it silver. “Konoha must be desperate.”

“Or the Godaime trusts me,” she says, as though she can feel her face or legs. Even her arms are nearly numb. She finds this far north where the cold is constant, it leaves a taste in the air, and it lingers on her scarf and tongue, bitter. “We’ll never be that desperate.”

Her heart flutters unevenly in her chest from faked confidence, but she’s getting better at pretending to be confident. For a moment, his smile falters, then widens, like he can hear her pulse and knows she’s a liar. A shadow passes over the moon, hiding half his body in a grey darkness that smooths his shallow wrinkles and disguises his age. Lightning pools in the tips of her fingers just below her nails. He picks a kunai from his pack, twirling it from the circular hole at its handle. Fleetingly, she wonders how many men he watched die in the war.

In her world, everyone has a motive, but that doesn’t mean he has an excuse to attack genin like they’re fair opponents.

“I don’t recognize you,” he says, cocking his head to the side and surveying her from her feet to her face so her skin prickles with distaste. Fighting doesn’t usually come with so much talking. “Come on, give me your name, Konoha. I’ll find it out after you’re dead from Hatake anyway.”

It’s a first time in a while that someone hasn’t known who she is on sight, and after her surprise subsides, she feels something like relief. “I’m Sasuke,” she says, and doesn’t activate her Sharingan.

For once, she’s not Uchiha Itachi’s younger sister, or the girl who was left behind. His face remains blank of recognition at her first name alone—of her eyes black in the moonlight, her hair visible just at its ends, her white, finely featured face half hidden by a grey scarf. She finds she likes the anonymity, though it comes from a man who wants her dead. The mission is to kill him, and if she does, alone like this, then she might end up in the Bingo Book when she’s not been a chuunin for three months, and she’s likely still be known by her relation to her brother because that’s what she’s good for.

Ryuumaru asks, “No family name?” so she shakes her head, and he shrugs. “All right,” he says, and expectedly throws the kunai as a distraction, camouflaging himself to hide from ordinary sight.

Instinctively, she goes to activate the Sharingan, but then stops, and uses her other senses instead. Scared, lonely girls constantly alert for attack are good at observation, and Sasuke taught herself to watch and listen and feel years ago. Air quality changes once it’s been manipulated by chakra, and she senses the wind kunai long before it reaches her, dropping to the snow so it sails harmlessly over her head to slice off the low hanging branch of a tree instead. When she looks in the direction it came from, hearing underbrush at the edge of the clearing crunch from something heavier than a hare, she sees no footsteps forming, but a swirl of condensation from a nearby tree. He can disguise his body and clothes, but not anything that comes from it, including his own breathing, it seems. Quickly, he moves from branch to branch, disturbing pine needles so they rattle softly together, leaving a trail of short lived, visible breath.

She estimates his speed and route as he nears her again, and throws a kunai of her own. It catches his leg, changing his movement so his footfalls are uneven, and he leaves a trail of blood across the branches. Though she was hoping to mark him, where it’s on his clothing remains invisible, but the trail is enough.

Again, he attacks, sending a sweep of sharpened wind low to the ground like a scythe’s blade so she needs to jump upward. He rushes her, quieter on the snow than in the trees, and still fast but as much as before; she slides beneath his sword of wind, skidding on her side until she’s on her feet behind him. Her hat slides loose, her scarf beneath her chin, revealing her face and letting loose her short hair. Hidden in his blind spot, she activates her Sharingan, and stabs a kunai into his back.

But the Sharingan can’t see through objections the way the Byakugan can, and she realizes too late that he’s wearing a thin layer of armor beneath his thick winter clothes.

Slow enough for her eyes to follow, he turns to retaliate, but they’re too close for her to dodge properly, and the wind sword he still has formed manages to nick her deep on her upper arm. She stumbles back, narrowly avoiding a second chance at impact, and realizes her own attack forced him out of his camouflage. There’s blood running freely from his thigh and from his back, staining the snow, but he ignores both more expertly than she does.

“So you’re a _Uchiha_ ,” he says, going again through the hand seals that will camouflage him from ordinary sight, proving he doesn’t know how the Sharingan works. His voice comes from everywhere at once. “And here I thought everyone but the Itachi kid was dead. What are you, some third cousin twice removed?”

She feels a burst of unanticipated anger at this, at being recognized as an extension of her brother, yet in a position far less than what she actually is. He steps around her lightly, leaving patterns of red against otherwise unblemished snow, and she pretends not to see him as clearly as she does. “No,” she says, gripping her wound so it stings despite the cold’s attempt to dull it. With her free hand, she slides of kunai from her pouch, ignoring the way it sends jolts of pain up her nerves. “I’m _Sasuke_ , direct descendant of Uchiha Madara, _sister_ of Uchiha Itachi, and Konoha kunoichi. You’re on my left.”

Even in his surprise, he doesn’t halt, and darts from her left to her right to put distance between them, but for a second, he’s in close range. She lashes out with her injured arm, her kunai electrified, and stabs through the hole she already made so the shocks his exposed back and tears across his protected. When he dies, he does so with a scream that echoes through the trees and snow as the corpse falls, limp and lifeless.

Kakashi and the others find her by the dead man, pulling Asuma’s hat back on with slippery, bloody gloved hands. Blood loss leaves her even colder than before, and dizzy.

“Well,” Asuma says, lighting a cigarette as Kakashi bandages her arm, “looks like we can add another high profile kill to your tally, Uchiha.”

As she looks back at the body, trying to ignore the cold blowing through her open coat, she thinks about how she introduced herself as Itachi’s sister instead of her parents’ daughter. “Can we go home now, Kakashi-san?” she asks, turning her attention from Ryuumaru to her former sensei, who smiles and says of course, before zipping her coat for her like she’s still a child in need of help.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Konoha and Suna play politics with a twelve-year-old.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you I'd update!
> 
> I'm warning you all now that just by nature of the fact that this is the timeskip with a severely deviated plot line, there are going to be a a lot of OCs.

Hinode is a community of a nine two floor buildings, each housing eight apartments, and surrounding three courtyards. During Sasuke’s mission in the Land of Iron, Sakura secured them an apartment in Housing Yuu, using her honor as a kunoichi to draw an understanding with their landlord that her roommate would be signing onto the lease once she returned from a mission. Sasuke does the day she returns, and moves in that night.

It’s two bedrooms, and Sakura’s is already filled with her furniture from home. “I didn’t want to break into your house or anything,” she says as she shows Sasuke her room, pushing open the plain, dark, plywood door, “but Dad said I could bring your the spare futon from home since it’s not like anyone stays over. If you don’t like it, we can bring it back, obviously, but I didn’t know what time you were coming, and I didn’t want you not to have somewhere to sleep. But if you do want it, you can keep it.”

In Sakura’s room, she has a white oak dresser and white oak shelves to coordinate with the white oak frame of her futon, which is covered in green and white checkered blankets dotted with little black flowers that matches her pillows and curtains. As of now, Sasuke’s has nothing but a futon covered by a patchwork quilt and the sheer white curtains that come with the apartment. There’s a towel on the floor by her pillow, a brighter pink than Sakura’s hair. The main room has a narrow, pale wooden, square table against the windowsill, and two mismatched chairs—one blue, one orange, with their paint chipped. Dishes and kitchenware are already in the cabinets and drying rack, along with food in the refrigeration and on the shelves. For living room furniture, they have pillows embroidered with the Haruno symbol, and a short table that looks hand carved.

Sasuke drops her pack by the towel, and surveys the room half the size as her one at home. The walls are off-white, like the rest of the apartment. “Thanks,” she says, and rubs her arm where Ryuumaru cut it. “Are you sure your parents don’t mind?”

“Yeah, of course,” Sakura says as Sasuke peels off her jacket and tries not to be too relieved. “Oh, we’re allowed to paint the walls. I’m thinking green for the kitchen area. You know, like that pale green that was everywhere in the Land of Waves?”

Off-white reminds her of hospital rooms, and waking in the middle of the night to find herself injured and alone. Pale green sounds perfect. “Can we do the living room light yellow?” she asks, remembering the way the afternoon sunlight bounced off the main room’s walls in her cousins’ house.

“Only if we get white furniture and curtains,” Sakura says, and falls back onto the futon, grabbing onto Sasuke’s hand to pull her with her. There’s a moment of panic that always occupies unexpected touch, but she swallows hard and lets it pass. Concern flits across Sakura’s face, but instead of commenting, she asks, “What color do you want your room?”

This close, the smell of disinfectant that sticks to her fingers is overpowering. Sasuke rolls over onto her back, away, and stares at her uneven ceiling. “I don’t know,” she says. “What about you?”

“Promise not to make fun of me?” Sakura says, and when Sasuke says she won’t, her friend makes her swear upon pain of chakra scalpel. “Like a lavender color. I know what you’re going to say, that that’s so predictable, but—”

“No, I like it,” Sasuke says, because it _is_ predictable, and maybe she does like the idea of returning to somewhere colorful after a mission. Sakura smiles, small and crooked with her cheeks flushed. “I’ll do blue, like a forget-me-not.”

“Perfect,” Sakura says, and sighs, smile fading. “I wish Naruto were here.”

It’s been five weeks since Naruto left. When Sasuke walked here from the village’s entrance, she passed his old building where he’d left his curtains open but remembered to turn off his lights. The noontime sun had caught the outline of his frog-shaped desk clock sitting by the windowsill of his bedroom as if to remind her Jiraiya had paid his rent for up to three years, and his belongings could stay there until then, untouched.

With a shrug, Sasuke says, “He’ll come back soon. By then you’ll be a famous medical-nin and I’ll be, I don’t know. Head of the Uchiha clan, I guess.”

Though she could access her inheritance once she became a chuunin, she can’t accept a legal position like clan head until she’s fourteen. The role is her brother’s birthright, the prodigal heir, but even a second hand replacement can look after a clan of ghosts.

Sakura reaches down and grasps Sasuke’s hand, squeezing lightly. “I’ll totally be your clan medic,” she says, releasing her grip to twists over onto her stomach, propping herself up by her elbows. “Under one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You pay me more than the hospital does.”

Laughing, Sasuke says, “Whatever you want, Sakura,” and rolls over the other end of the futon, pulling herself to her feet. With one light shove upward, her window is open, letting in chilly, late winter air, and the sweet song of a thrush from a nearby tree recently returned for the oncoming season.

 

 

At the end of March each year, the new Bingo Book update is released to the jounin of every village to show the changing dynamics of the field. New inclusions are rare; prices are adjusted annually, increasing but never decreasing, and statuses or rank changed, or more kills added. A week before it’s set to publish, the Godaime summons Sasuke to her office, where she sits with the Kage’s beta on the desk in front of her, ready for revisions, and a Suna diplomat in one of the chairs across from her.

He stands when she enters, revealing an older man weighted by expensive clothing, his once fit body lost to age, and a balding spot on the back of his head. “I am Mitsumori Youku,” he says, and presses his palms together, bowing low so his back cracks. “It’s an honor to meet you, Uchiha-san.”

Though confused, Sasuke schools her features like her mother taught her, and mimics him, bowing neatly. In her simple grey pants and brown sweater, she’s dressed far too plainly for a meeting with a foreigner. “The honor is mine, Mitsumori-san,” she says as she straightens, hoping he doesn’t take offense in her ragged appearance. Even her hair is still damp from her morning shower.

“Sasuke,” the Godaime says, dropping any pretense of formality, “take a seat.” As Sasuke does, the Godaime brushes her blonde hair from her forehead and continues, “Mitsumori-san and I have something to discuss with you regarding what happened during the chuunin exams.”

Mitsumori smiles nervously, understanding this is the polite way of referring to his village’s invasion of theirs. “Suna is currently ruled by its Council,” he says, body turned to face both the Godaime and Sasuke equally. His eyes are dark and small, folded into the reddened exhaustion surrounding them. “I’m a member, and one of my duties is to attend the conference in the Land of Iron each year that helps in the compilation of the Bingo Book, where a Council member of every village is sent. The decision to add you was unanimous, but I was outvoted in what to credit you for, which means we now have an embarrassing dilemma. Godaime-sama, please, the book.”

“Suna has a few different options for the next Kazekage,” the Godaime says as Sasuke carefully takes the Bingo Book. It’s held together by staples and butterfly clips, printed on cheap, flimsy paper. “One of the strongest contenders, and the one that Mitsumori-san here is backing, is Gaara.”

Sasuke bites her tongue to hold by any sign of horror or surprise, and focuses instead of her profile. There isn’t much—she’s a chuunin of Konoha with no alias, a natural born Sharingan user, and is incorrectly assumed to have a dual affinity in fire and lightning. Her birthday is listed as unknown, but age correctly estimated to be twelve. She has a bounty of five thousand ryo. Above her bounty is the short list of her kills and accomplishments, beginning with Airiki Natsu, who she brought back for interrogation not a week earlier, and ending with the defeat of the Suna-nin Gaara in the Konoha chuunin exams.

When she looks up, Mitsumori and the Godaime are watching her. Though Sasuke tries to find something to say, she thinks of nothing, and settles instead for sliding the Bingo Book back to the Godaime.

“A Kage is allowed to be defeated,” Mitsumori says, and the Godaime nods, “but not by a chuunin. If you understand my meaning.”

If Sasuke becomes jounin less a year after her genin graduation, then she’ll break the record on advancement time. She might even be happy about it, if only it weren’t a move for international politics. “Actually,” she says, “I was a genin at the time. I beat him fairly. Isn’t advancing me to change it in the Bingo Book just revisionist history?”

“Uchiha,” the Godaime says, voice sharp in warning, but Mitsumori just waves his hand.

“She’s right,” he says, looking from the Godaime to Sasuke. “This is revisionist history, in a way. But we aren’t changing any facts of the past, just people’s perception of it. Uchiha Sasuke, brightest of her year, elevated to the highest rank her village can offer in just eight months. A girl like her could beat even a Kage in his early years.”

As she sits there in silence, too surprised to speak, the Godaime leans forward, elbows on her desk, and says, “I know how it sounds, Sasuke, but you do fit the basic qualifications. You have mastery of more than one nature transformation and your Sharingan, a higher list of accomplishments than some current jounin, and you’ve made your own techniques. You’ve been working with jounin already. Not much will change. This doesn’t mean I’ll send you out on any solo missions.”

Raising her rank that rapidly will make her a high profile target, regardless of whether or not she’s alone. “Right,” she says, and thinks this has nothing to do with her profile at all. “Thank you for the opportunity, Godaime-sama.”

With a laugh, Mitsumori says, “I think you’ll do just fine,” and claps her on her shoulder. She shies away, pressing to the opposite edge of the chair, and doesn’t look at either of them. “I’ll pass on the information to the revisions committee before I leave the village.”

The Godaime dismisses him, and waits until the door clicks decisively shut behind him before turning her attention to Sasuke and saying, “Speak up. I don’t need my _jounin_ to be shrinking wallflowers.”

“Naruto admitted you asked about my behavior,” she says, sitting straighter in the chair. The sunset’s light pours through the wall of windows behind the Godaime’s chair so her yellow hair softens to gold, and the red stitching on the Hokage robes glows. “And that was just to become a chuunin. Why did you agree to this?”

“I know Suna’s other candidates,” the Godaime answers, folding her arms. “Believe it or not, but Gaara’s their best option. It’s true that I had...reservations about you, but you’re not dangerous. But after next week, you’re going to need to be twice as careful as you have been. More people will notice you, which means it will be easier for Orochimaru to track you. I wanted to avoid that.” She sighs, quiet but long, and says, “You can leave. Sleep in tomorrow. You’re getting the week off.”

Sasuke stands, and bows. “I’ll see you next week, Godaime-sama,” she tell her, because she can’t bring herself to say thank you for something as manipulative as this.

 

 

Early morning breaks pale and clear over the Land of Hot Water’s countryside, thin rays of light spreading out across the rice fields flooded from last night’s late springtime storm.

“When I was a kid,” Kurenai says, sitting on the cliffside next to Sasuke as they split a seafood bento box, “I used to wonder every once in awhile what it would be like to be born a civilian. Can you imagine me doing a job like that? I’d be terrible. Miserable. Dying by childbirth at the age of fifteen.”

Down in the valley, civilian rice farmers trek through the flooded fields, their heads protected by cloth or wide-brimmed, straw hats with their pants tightened by drawstrings to stay cinched above their knees. It’s early May, the height of the harvesting season, but also the time of year with the heaviest rain. Like most Konoha residents, Sasuke eats rice daily, but she rarely spares a thought to where it comes from. Looking at these farmers now, impoverished and walking barefoot in murky, reedy water, she thinks she has the better life. Even if she still lives under her brother’s shadow with the rest of her family dead, she has social respect. In her world and in theirs, a person’s societal position governs their life, mostly.

Kurenai runs her fingers through her dark curls, ruffling them out so they fall across her back. Sasuke sips her lychee juice. They should have left by now, but neither of them slept well with the way the wind was whistling through the bamboo surrounding their camp, or how consistently thunder rumbled right over head. When Sasuke finally slept, it was only briefly, and she dreamed Orochimaru was decaying corpse using his rotted fingers to scratch out her eyes.

Overall, it was a terrible night.

“I feel like I’d be dead already,” she says, balancing the bottle between her knees. Kurenai bought in for her in the village along with ume wine for herself that she claimed was too bitter. She poured the liquid onto the ground after half a glass, a stream of medicinal orange-gold that sank like venom into the mud. “Killed by a flash flood or something. Why would our target even _want_ to pretend to be a rice farmer?”

For the past week, she and Kurenai have tracked Tsubasa Kirimi, a woman suspected of attempting to spark conflict between minor villages. Their search led them here, to a hopeless village encasing a large rice paddy where houses are built haphazardly from straw and wood and stone. Delaying to finish breakfast doesn’t mean much when the target is surrounded by civilians for the morning. Blearily, Sasuke thinks she might have had the chance to try and sleep for a little longer.

Shrugging, Kurenai says, “I guess some people are just that masochistic. If she stays true to her cover, she won’t be done for hours.”

“Is there a way to speed it up?” Sasuke says without thinking, rubbing her eye. Then she realizes what she said, and backtracks, flustered. “I just meant—” she starts, but stops when Kurenai laughs.

“It’s fine,” she says. “I was already thinking of ways to get her to notice us. Asuma promised me dinner at Umineko if I came home early.”

During the past week, Sasuke learned more about Kurenai and Asuma’s dating life than she ever wanted. “He’ll bring you anyway,” she says, watching Tsubasa pause to put her hands on her hips, stretching, before running the back of her wrist across her forehead. The sun’s higher in the sky now, falling across the valley directly and glittering over the water. Before Sasuke can ask what Kurenai intends to do, she lets her chakra flare so for just a moment, she’s the most noticeable energy in the area.

Tsubasa feels it immediately, pausing again to look around, head darting about the valley. Kurenai calmly slips away the bento box, still half full, as their target’s gaze settles on them. Unsure of what to do, Sasuke waves, and watches as Tsubasa takes off at a run.

 

 

In the second week of June, Sunagakure’s unofficial Kazekage requests Team Seven to attend their yearly Midsummer Festival, held on June twenty-fourth. Sasuke is the only one who can attend; Sakura, as an apprentice and a genin, legally can’t be sent out for a diplomatic mission, and Naruto is gone. The Godaime has a kimono made for Sasuke before she leaves in the furisode style, a mint green patterned at the bottom and across the sleeves in a bamboo tapestry’s painting of snow topped mountains with the image of white cranes the color of the obi taking flight, moving from the summits to the collar. It’s been years since Sasuke wore a kimono. Though she’s uncomfortable in anything so eye catching, she manages a thank you.

Her travelling companions are two noncombatant Council members, Fuji Setsu and Nakakami Kusai. Midway through the first day, they take a break, the two older civilians unable to handle the stress of travel. Summers in the Land of Fire are humid, and the afternoon air is hard to breathe, thick with moisture and the smell of June flowers. Fuji-sama pours water onto a cloth and dots her forehead, winded from walking, wheezing unpleasantly; Nakakami-sama, a decade younger but thicker around the waist, sinks onto a shaded rock, and sweats out the liquid in his body. Sasuke uses the opportunity to drink, but quickly finds herself restless, and anxious to keep moving.

The two with her notice despite her efforts to hide it, acute observational skills obtained from parenting daughters her age. Fuji-sama laughs, and beckons her over. “Be patient,” she says as Sasuke reluctantly sits on a root across from them. “We old people need our rest. Have you been to the Land of Wind yet, dear?”

When Sasuke shakes her head, Nakakami-sama says, “It’s dry season now. The landscape is flat, red and brown for miles, and the buildings clay. Suna is hidden by dunes and tableaus. Very wild, but beautiful in its own way. I’ve never seen a Uchiha escape without your white skin turned as red as your eyes. You’ll be in a lot of pain by the end of this.”

Though Sasuke’s experienced sunburn before, it’s never been severe. A person can walk for miles in the Land of Fire, in or out of a village, and never step away from canopy shade.

“Suna likes its traditions,” Fuji-sama says when Sasuke doesn’t answer, unsure how. “Make sure to bow and smile to who you’re supposed to, and if you can’t tell if someone’s important, just follow our lead.”

Unofficially appointing a Kazekage isn’t very traditional. As though he knows what she’s thinking, Nakakami-sama says, “This current situation is a rare exception. From what our sources have told us, the older candidates for Kazekage were deemed unfit—”

“Well, Kurano Mako _has_ pickled his insides into immortality with sake and wine, Kusai.”

“—and the boy, they say, has changed his attitude towards others since your exam.” His hands ball into fists in their position on his knees, and her mouth pinches. Sasuke doesn’t say she agrees with their doubt, even if she does. “He can’t legally be appointed Kazekage until January, of course. He needs to pass the chuunin exams fairly so they that can make him a jounin. There are steps to reaching a Kage’s position.”

“Then what’s he doing now?” Sasuke asks, looping her arms around her knees. In the tree high above them, a squirrel chatters and scurries, distractingly loud for a creature so small.

With an exaggerated shrug, Fuji-sama says, “Now that’s the question. Being put under tutelage by a competent adviser, we’ve heard, but the term competent is so terribly subjective. Still, I suppose someone was smart enough to invite you.”

No one’s explained to Sasuke yet why her team was invited when only a few months earlier, she was advanced a rank prematurely to save the village from the embarrassment of the shinobi world learning their future Kazekage was defeated by a genin. Then she remembers that this apparent change occurred only after his conversation with Naruto. “Oh,” she says, her restless anxiety doubled by a new worry of how Suna will react when she’s the only one of her team to arrive.

“Oh?” Nakakami-sama says, drawing her attention to him. He smiles, the corners of his mouth folding into kind laugh lines. “Have you forgotten who you are? You’re heir to the Uchiha clan, the same age as the future Kazekage. I have the  _upmost_ respect of the Hyuga clan, of course, but they have a reputation of being extreme. Just look at what they do to themselves.”

Though she still thinks it’s because of Naruto, they don’t know what happened in the woods, and she wants to keep that way. “So they want to establish a relationship to a major clan?” she says.

“You’ll hold a significant amount of power in Konoha one day,” Fuji-sama says after taking a sip of her water. “If they befriend us, Council members and the heir to a founding clan, that’s enough to solidify their allegiance to Konoha. Be careful when we arrive, dear,” she adds as she stands, signalling she’s ready to leave again. “The political playing field is worse than the Forest of Death.”

 

 

“I have to ask,” Temari says the night of the festival, just hours after arrival, after she discreetly took Sasuke away from the crowds when she began to look noticeably uncomfortable, “how did you do it?”

It’s early evening, the sky a dusky blue that turn the sands and adobe buildings grey, and they stand together on the Kazekage’s tower’s third floor balcony overlooking the activity below. Stalls dot the streets, and down the main lane, performers put on a play in elaborate costumes, dressed like tigers or royalty. The air’s cooler now than when Sasuke first arrived, and smells strongly of oil and spice. For a moment, she focuses on observing the festival from her aerial view, procrastinating her answer, because Temari doesn’t need to be specific for her meaning to be clear.

Finally, Sasuke says, “It’s my eyes. The Sharingan is just _really_ good at genjutsu.”

“Other people have tried genjutsu before,” Temari says, not quite skeptically, and accepts it when Sasuke shrugs. “Well, whatever. This might sound crazy to you, but thanks. Your teammate sat down and talked to him, which is what he needed, but people spent so long dehumanizing him that pain sort of proved they were wrong. Now the sand actually differentiates between kinds of touch—he can touch hands and hug and everything.”

Sasuke wonders what this says about her, that even when she helps someone, she still harms them. “That’s good,” she says as the firework display begins, sparks whizzing towards the sky. They explode with three _pops_ , one after the other, until it looks like the stars are falling. Temari’s kimono matches the lights, silver and slick, patterned in pinpricks of gold. “So things are different?”

“You can say better,” Temari answers with a smile. “Kind of like a second chance at family, you know? Mom died, my dad sucked. All we really have is each other.”

The fireworks crack so loudly Sasuke can barely hear over them. She watches as shapes form, colored purple and silver and green and red, only to fizzle out in moments. “Yeah,” she says, and tries not to remember being six, wearing another kimono almost as beautiful as this, and watching Konoha’s winter firework show from Shisui’s shoulders. “I can understand that. Thanks for getting me out, by the way. I’m sure you’d rather be down there.” It’s a clumsy subject change, but there’s a party beneath her, and she doesn’t want to talk about family.

With a shrug of her own, Temari says, “They aren’t really my thing. I’m just used to them. I’m guessing you don’t like crowds?”

Again, Sasuke shrugs.

Temari drums her fingers on the balcony railing, nails clicking against the metal, before she says, “Wait here,” and disappears back into a suite. By the time she’s returned, the empress in the play below is calling vengeance upon the tiger god that tore out her daughter’s throat. “Since your other teammates are unavailable,” she says, holding out a slip of paper with an address scribbled across it, “I’m assuming you’re the one who’s going to be used as the puppet liaison for now. Send me a message before you come next time and I’ll make sure you can stay in our actual guest room. We’ve only got two inns, so any peace and quiet promised for delegates of other villages is a total lie.”

“Thanks,” Sasuke says, wary, and tucks the paper into her obi beside her fan. “So what’s that play about?”

“It’s an old Suna legend,” Temari says, and tells Sasuke a fairy tale about a empress angering a god at the cost of a daughter, who fell in love with a dishonored shinobi when he tried to steal a loaf of bread for the local war orphans. “We’re about to get to the part where Isamu challenges Tora to a duel for Etsuko-hime’s soul,” she says when she finishes. “We can make it if we hurry.”

Sasuke agrees, unsure whether or not she wants to, and follows Temari down the tower and through the crowd to watch the hero Isamu strike down the tiger god with a lighting effect and an entire yard of red ribbon too crimson to be the color of blood.

 

 

On the day Sasuke turns thirteen, the traitor Yakushi Kabuto catches her on the outskirts of Ishigakure, and kills her two teammates before sending chakra into a pressure point, rendering her unconscious.

When she wakes, it’s drizzling, she’s on stony ground, and the moisture’s slowly cutting through the blood now dried on her clothes and skin—Amiko’s, Sagi’s, and her own. There’s a bandage around her eyes, and she can barely move her body. Her wrists are bound, but not her ankles, which means he must have been carrying her on his back.

Something crunches near her feet, the sound of a shoe’s soles against stray pebbles. “I can tell you’re awake, Sasuke-chan,” Kabuto says from above her, in front of her. “Your breathing’s changed.”

The mission was supposed to be a simple one, its purpose for Sasuke and the two kunoichi she was paired with to gather information on a nin-for-hire group spotted on trade lines near Ishi that wasn’t meant to go wrong. Sagi and Amiko were sharing cheap sake directly from the bottle in celebration of completing the mission just hours earlier when Kabuto attacked, and Sasuke was bringing back a takeout dinner of okonomiyaki that looked subpar from a village nearby. They were all in civilian clothes to decrease the chances of an attack, so none of them were closely watching for danger. It was a good night. Sasuke was even happy. Then he paralyzed her first with a hit to the lower spine, leaving her awake long enough to watch her teammates die; Amiko he stabbed through stomach from behind, and ripped upward to her heart, and he killed Sagi with a blow to her head.

Now, an indeterminable time later, Sasuke kicks out without responding, movement painful and jerking, but surprising enough that she hears the pebbles move again as he steps back. In the short moment he’s caught off guard, she forces up her legs and slips arms around them, and narrowly scuttles out of the way when he reaches for her. She almost collapses when she stands, ripping off the bandages as she does, but she doesn’t have the opportunity to run before he gets his hand in her damp t-shirt, and pulls her back towards him. There’s something wrong with her, she realizes as she twists, attempting to activate her Sharingan, and he uses her failure to push her into the ground, pinning her down, his hand over her eyes.

“I’m not a Hyuga,” Kabuto says as she struggles to breathe, to remember she’s twelve—thirteen—not seven or nine, and and even without her kekkei genkai, she isn’t defenseless, “who can shut down chakra reserves, but I can temporarily damage the part of the optic nerves that control the Sharingan.”

Even panicked, she realizes what that means, and concentrates, slowing her breathing, before forcing a surge of lightning from her body. He shoots off of her with a curse, skin and hair singed but not nearly as damaged as he should be.

She knows she can’t kill him without her Sharingan when he so successfully murdered her two rightfully jounin teammates, and scrambles to her feet, taking off at a run. Whatever he did to her body is beginning to wear off, and she tears at the ropes on her wrist with her teeth until she’s freed and her lips are bleeding. There’s an injury on her side she hadn’t noticed situated between two of the claw marks Gaara left around her hip, bound with the bandage already red. In the distance, she sees lights, signalling a nearby village that inevitably means places to hide until her eyes correct themselves, and for a moment, thinks she has a chance.

Then he’s in front of her, speed accelerated by a Shunshin, and she has to skid to a halt and sidestep to avoid the shuriken he throws at her knee.

Before she can retaliate, a wall of water appears between them, erupted from the drizzle and swirling with internal waves. “A Konoha-nin and an Oto-nin fighting in the Land of Rain,” a familiar voice says from Sasuke’s left. When she looks to the side, she sees Kisame, his skin like a skink’s tongue and a line through the Kiri symbol across his forehead protector. “Hey, Sasuke. What’s his problem with you?”

He jerks his head in Kabuto’s direction. Cautiously, remembering the way her brother shoved her into the roots to hide her from his partner, she says, “He’s trying to bring me to Orochimaru.”

The day in forest, when she developed her Mangekyo Sharingan, she assumed Oto and Ame might be working together if it meant achieving their goals. If they are, then Kisame’s breaking orders, because he turns his attention the other side of water, eyes narrowed, and says, “Is that asshole seriously still trying to get the Sharingan? Get back to that rat hole where you belong and tell him to stop trying to possess kids’ bodies. It’s fucking disgusting.”

“This business is between Sasuke and I,” Kabuto says, voice garbled by the water. Sasuke ignores him, distracted by Itachi’s partner. “A foreign missing-nin has no right to impede an official mission.”

“As a missing-nin, I can do whatever I want,” Kisame says, rolling his shoulders in a casual shrug so the coarse fabric of the cloak rustles. “Besides, I work with her brother. We’re practically family by association.” Looking again at Sasuke, he continues, “Konoha’s that way. Keep your head low and don’t talk to anyone.”

“You’re just letting me go?” Sasuke says. “Why?”

Last time Sasuke had an encounter with an Oto-nin, her brother saved her. This time it isn’t Itachi, but his partner isn’t much better. Again, he shrugs, and says, “Because Orochimaru’s a freak who shouldn’t be allowed near children. Now get out of here before this one breaks my hold.”

As she walks away, legs unsteady on slippery rocks, she thinks it isn’t normal to be saved by enemy-nin even once, let alone more than that. She’s going to return alive because of Kisame of Kiri, but empty handed of her teammates’ corpses for their families, who will want to put them to rest. The Godaime said she didn’t believe Sasuke was dangerous, but that doesn’t mean people still can’t die because of her, and if she wants this to stop, she’s going to have to solve the problem herself.


	7. Chapter 7

Sasuke walks through Konoha’s gates a week after she turned thirteen wearing torn clothes and hastily done bandages, and delivers her mission report alone.

“I want to go after Orochimaru,” Sasuke tells the Godaime, who sits beside her hospital cot to hear the report, “before he can come after me again.”

When the Godaime came to ask for her to relay the events of mission, Sasuke wasn’t intending to say this, but she’s barely slept in five days, and every time she does she watches her teammates die again, or feels Kabuto pressing her down into the ground. She won’t always have her brother to save her, or his partner, and she doesn’t want them. The Godaime watches her, blue eyes narrowed, sitting relaxed in the uncomfortable plastic chair. Sasuke leans back against the thin pillow and hugs herself, fingers digging into the newly healed wound at her side, and watches as the overcast sunlight trickling through the window beside her reveals the dust suspended between them. In the dull light, the Godaime is shaded unflatteringly in pale shadows, aging her despite her artificial youth.

In a clipped tone, she says, “No. You’re high B-class, Sasuke. Generously low A-class, as the Bingo Book calls you. I’m not sending you after an S-class missing-nin when I’ve forbidden all my shinobi from even going near the Land of Sound. Especially now that it seems the Akatsuki has taken a special interest in you.”

“Only two of them,” Sasuke says, and knows it was the wrong answer when the Godaime arches an eyebrow. “I mean, I don’t think they’re after me the way Orochimaru is. I know I’m not good enough, but—”

“And if Orochimaru did capture you?” the Godaime says, holding up her hand. Thunder rumbles suddenly without rain, threatening a storm. “What would you do then? Kill yourself?” Sasuke stays silent. The Godaime sighs, and rubs her temples. “Look,” she says, “it would take additional training for you to go after him alone. In a few years, you’ll probably reach that level naturally, but Konoha simply doesn’t have the resources at the moment to give you the specialized training advanced chuunin or jounin usually have access to. You’re also the last surviving Uchiha, Sasuke. The last member of a founding clan. I, as a Senju, _especially_ can’t let you risk your life like that. It’s our responsibility to the legacy of the village.”

Sasuke isn’t the last surviving member of the Uchiha clan, but Senju Tsunade can ignore that if she wants. In the past few months, people have been saying this about her more and more. “But then aren’t I risking the lives of whoever I’m sent out with instead?” Sasuke says, uncrossing her arms and folding her hands together in her lap. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

“Shinobi die, Sasuke. It’s an occupational hazard.”

“Unless they’re politically important.”

They stare, the Godaime’s too old eyes against Sasuke’s angry and unfiltered exhaustion. After a moment, the Godaime says, “Even the politically important ones. I thought your family taught you that.”

Carelessly, recklessly, Sasuke looks the Godaime straight in the face, and lets her eyes flick briefly into the Mangekyo Sharingan so the other woman jumps. At Sasuke’s request, Kakashi said nothing of this. “I have the most valuable kekkei genkai in Konoha right now, Godaime-sama,” she says, confident at least in this truth. Contrary to what the Hyuga clan might claim, the Byakugan is incomparable. “ _No one_ would be able to train me in this anyway. Orochimaru doesn’t know I have this, and Kisame made it sound like he wants the Sharingan, specifically, which means it must be inherently stronger than him. There has to someone to train me in any advanced form of the basics, because I can figure out the rest.”

The Godaime falls into the back of the plastic chair, and shuts her eyes for a moment, as though trying to keep herself calm. “That wasn’t the Sharingan,” she says when she opens them again. “That was not a _normal_ Sharingan. What was that?”

“It’s called the Mangekyo Sharingan,” Sasuke says, and explains what it is, but lies about how it’s developed, telling the Godaime when and where, but not the direct cause. “My brother has it too,” she adds. “It’s how he uses the Tsukuyomi.”

Again, the Godaime lets a short silence fall. “Don’t move,” she says, standing, as though Sasuke could go anywhere. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

She’s gone for ten minutes, which is long enough for Sasuke’s exhaustion to set in, the sedative in her system defeating the nervous energy that’s kept her sustained for a week. Before she can nod off, the Godaime returns, carrying a thick form on clipboard and pen, which she places on Sasuke’s lap before resuming her seat. “I don’t have the resources to set you up with a steady partner to help train you intensively,” the Godaime says, watching Sasuke flip through, “and I think we need to decrease your exposure. This is insane, but you need to be in an environment where you can use your kekkei genkai practically without news of it going public. Fill that out right now. I’m not giving you a choice.”

When Sasuke asked for specialized training, she hadn’t meant the ANBU. Itachi joined the ANBU, and killed their family a year later. He was the same age she is now.

The form ends with a three page mental health assessment checklist. Question ten reads, _Are you easily susceptible to genjutsu?_ to which she checks _No_ , and adds in the optional notes, _I’m a Uchiha._ Six questions down from that asks, _Have you ever seen a family number die_ ? which she marks for _Yes_ , but checks _No_ again for question thirty, which asks, _Have you ever been raped and/or sexually assaulted?_

After she signs the final page, she hands it back to the Godaime, who rifles through it before saying, “I’ll pass this on. Your place in the ANBU will be confidential. Never talk about your work outside of other members, or myself. And if you feel the pressure of the job getting to you, come to me immediately. Directly to me. Is that clear?”

Sasuke almost asks if the Godaime tells this to all her new recruits, but keeps the thought to herself. “Perfectly, Godaime-sama,” she says instead as outside, storm clouds blow over the sun, darkening the sky in premature twilight and threatening rain.

 

 

On the day of Sasuke’s initiation into ANBU, she’s attacked in the one back alley she uses to reach her apartment from the training grounds, and freezes up long enough for someone to wrap a blindfold around her eyes and chakra draining rope around her right wrist. “Don’t think about trying to slip away, kid,” a man says, voice low and close, as he disarms her. “You aren’t allowed to know how to get to home base until you pass.”

It’s a two hour walk, and she spends it with a kunai pressed to her back in line with her heart. At some point, a door opens, her future team member forces her down a flight of stairs and through another set of doors, and then finally rips off the blindfold. She’s in a training room, complete with a mat on the ground and practice weapons on the walls, but around her are a series of masked figures dressed in the same uniform her brother wore six years ago. A single, dim, yellow light glows above the center of the room, though she can see there are other fixtures along the ceiling. The floor’s stone, and she can’t see what the walls are made of, or what the color is. Unsure what to do, she stays where she is on the mat, awaiting instruction. It isn’t long before the one figure sitting takes something from his lap and throws it directly towards her.

Instinctively, she catches it, and then nearly drops it. “What the _fuck_?” she says, eyes finding the man’s eyes through the narrow slits in his plain, white mask, because in her hands she holds Itachi’s.

“He was kind enough to leave it behind the night of the massacre,” the man answers, voice rumbling, earthquake deep and distantly familiar. “I thought you might have known he was part of this organization. One of the greatest weapons shinobi have at their disposal is fear, Uchiha-san, but I don’t need to coach you in the value of that. ANBU missions will put you in greater danger than you’ve been in before. You must always expect someone to attempt to throw you off guard. With that in mind, it’s time for your initiation.”

She hears the whistle of a weapon cutting through still air before it has the opportunity to connect, and twists to the side so the end of the bo misses her by a hair’s width. Her attacker’s a man, his mask painted in the image of monkey, and doesn’t pause before attacking again, sweeping his bo to try and swipe her in side. Itachi’s mask is on the ground by his feet.

“You can only use taijutsu,” the man sitting says as a woman in a sparrow mask and long red hair throws Sasuke a bo from the training wall. “The fight will last as long as it needs.”

Though her opponent is significantly better at the bo, Sasuke’s faster; he knocks hers out of the air before it reaches her and attempts to hit her in the head all in one swing, but she ducks under the attack and grabs her own. She hasn’t held a bo since she was an Academy student, and even that was really a jo, half-sized. This is a foot taller than her, awkward in her hands even as she imitates his hold. When he brings his down over her, she blocks, bo held straight, so his lands between her hands, but he tilts it, and uses the opposite end to catch behind her knee and knock her onto her back.

The air leaves her lungs in a whoosh of pain as her bo hits into her forehead and rolls away. Before the leader can call the match’s end at a three count, she grabs her opponent’s weapon and tugs. She isn’t strong enough to disarm him, but she manages to force the end near her upward, which means the end near him moves in the other direction, and with a shove, she hits him in the mask, also dislodging the holder keeping back his brown hair. A few people in the audience laugh, she kicks above his shin guard, and has the bo back in her hands in enough time to block another attack.

She lands a hit with the end on ball of his ankle so he has to readjust his stance, and uses his moment of inactivity to get back on her feet. Too quickly, he moves to strike, but when she guards, she keeps her bo diagonal so they knock at the middle, leaving fewer openings. His eyes are brown, she sees through the slit in his mask, but she doesn’t know anything else about him.

Instead of retaliating, she steps back and darts to the side, planting her bo straight against the mat and using it as a grounding point to jump up high without the help of chakra. He manages to grab her at the shin, but her other leg is free, and her foot connects with the side of his face. When he falls, his grip on her means he brings her with him, and they tumble down together in a tangle of limbs and wood. Her bo hits against the length of his body, and her knee smacks into his, but he has other weapons that she doesn’t. She doesn’t notice the kunai until it’s already hit her leg, but moves before it can lodge. Blood flowing freely from her thigh, she stands, using the bo to support her. He throws a shuriken that she swipes out of the way followed by two kunai. The second nicks her opposite knee.

“You’re allowed to give up,” the leader says, but Sasuke isn’t good at surrendering,

When Monkey attacks, he aims for her injured thigh, but her arms are unhurt, and she blocks him without issue. She knocks up his bo and uses the other end of her own to repeat his move against her, sweeping his legs out from under him. He lands on his back, still clutching his bo, which she pushes away so it rolls far off the mat before shoving the end of hers against his chin. The mask comes off with a tap, already jogged loose from how many times it was hit, revealing a pinched, mousey face of someone half a dozen years older than Itachi. It would be a kill shot if this fight were real, not to mention his identity would have been uncovered. Three counts pass, which means the match should be over, but no one calls it.

He abruptly grabs hold of her bo as she did earlier to his and yanks it from her hands. In a moment, he has her back on the ground from a hit to her injured knee, reversing their position. “This isn’t the Academy anymore, little girl,” he says, voice as mousey as his face. “Someone needs their eyes closed for a match to end.”

Before she can react, he knocks her in the temple with her own weapon, and her awareness fades.

 

 

Despite losing, Sasuke passed, though only probational terms, which is how everyone begins until they complete their first mission and earn their mask. Her mission comes a month later in mid-September where she goes unmasked with a team of masked ANBU. Until she earns her identity, she doesn’t know anyone else’s but Monkey’s, who was an accident.

The mission is the route the rest of the nin-for-hire she and her late teammates were after, but keep the newest member alive as a warning to his employer. Though they took care of those near Ishi, there was another force in the Land of Water that another team of jounin from Kiri failed to kill. Shimura-san’s orders are that she’s not to use ninjutsu or genjutsu until the end, claiming taijutsu is her weakest area. Clearly he wasn’t at the chuunin exam, or he’d understand she doesn’t _have_ a weakest area. 

Monkey, who leads the team meant to supervise her, says, “ _We’re behind you if anything goes wrong_ ,” through the comm as she nears the storehouse the nin-for-hire are using as their camp. They’re near Getsugakure, and the air’s so full of late summer pollen that Sasuke’s finding it difficult to breathe.

“I’m fine,” she says quietly, readying her kunai from her place in the nearby apple tree. Hatsuri, the nin-for-hire’s leader, sits with his back to her drinking pungent beer from a bottle and reading a local paper. Another man sleeps, a third and fourth ineffectively keep guard by the front entrance, a fifth tells a sixth a story about a prostitute who ran away, and the seventh, the youngest, does a sudoku puzzle by the window. With Sagi and Amiko, the other force was easy to defeat, and they had greater numbers. But now Sasuke’s alone with a chuunin’s skill level doing a jounin team’s mission alone.

She doesn’t think the ANBU team will help if anything goes wrong regardless of what her captain says.

The kunai isn’t meant to hurt anyone. The fifth and sixth notice it immediately, calling for Hatsuri to get down. It lands on the crate acting as a table, ripping an unlit oil lantern, and in a moment, even the sleeping man is on his feet. Sasuke waits in the tree to be seen, and once she is, darts to the side and out into the backyard of the storehouse. Taijutsu’s easier without obstruction.

Slower than expected but fast enough, the force has her surrounded. The youngest, who’s only a few years older than she is, hangs back, a wakizashi at the ready. The others have weapons drawn or are beginning hand seals for jutsu. Not giving them the time to attack, Sasuke slides into position for her own technique, and flies into her updated version of the shurikenjutsu.

It ends quickly. Two are dead, and everyone but the youngest severely injured. At the other end of the comm, she catches her brother’s name, and thinks Shimura-san decided on taijutsu for more reasons than improving her weakest skill.

The youngest drops his wakizashi, shaking, and goes to run, but Sasuke picks up one of her shuriken with a string and throws it, knocking him over at the ankles. “Everyone here is about to die,” she says, covering the comm so the team on the other end can’t hear her. “Close your eyes and cover you ears.”

She expects him not the listen, but he does. If Kabuto hadn’t paralyzed her, she would have fought until she died, or until she killed him because that’s what Sagi and Amiko deserved. With the boy unseeing and his hearing muffled, she turns her attention back to others still living. The second is trying to get away, legs immobile but crawling with his arms, and she kills him with a shuriken to the back. She kills the third, fourth, and seventh in similar fashions, all in various levels of consciousness. Hatsuri she leaves for last. As she walks over, she picks up the youngest’s wakizashi, and presses it to the man’s throat as he tries to force himself up on his elbows.

“I want to know the name of my killer before I die,” he says, blood bubbling up between his teeth, spilling from the sides of his mouth. She remembers that her profile in the Bingo Book doesn’t come with a photograph, and the description claims her eyes are red. Shimura Danzo is more conniving than Suna. “You owe me that.”

“Uchiha Sasuke,” she says and when she slips the blade into his neck, he dies mid-laugh.

The wakizashi is still in his throat when she walks back to the youngest member and kneels in front of him. When she taps his chin, his eyes open and he uncovers his ears. “But your eyes are blue,” he says, except then they aren’t, because she activates the Sharingan. “What do you _want_ with me?”

“Tell your employer that Konoha’s not going to abide by him blocking anymore of the Land of Fire’s trade routes,” she says. “Tell him I killed his men in Ishi, I killed them here, and they’ll send me after whoever else he hires.”

Someone who doesn’t fight is the type to run. To guarantee he goes, she forces the necessity of delivering the message into his head with a genjutsu, and sends him on his way. As he walks away, leaving her the last one breathing in this plot of the dead, she thinks suddenly that she very much wants Sakura and the safety of their yellow living room.

 

 

“Maybe they’ll give her Weasel,” said Lion on the journey home, and Monkey was kind enough to punch her before Sasuke had the chance.

For a day after she returns, she stays in the ANBU compound and hears nothing. Then, at sunset the following day, Monkey leads her into a room long in length but narrow in width, and leaves her. A table's by the wall, seating the highest members of the organization and Shimura Danzo in the middle, stiff in his chair. For the first time, everyone’s unmasked, but she recognizes them for their eyes. Soft light falls across the table, but the rest of the room is lit by harsh ceiling lamps that leave Sasuke lightheaded from their brightness.

“Uchiha Sasuke,” he says, rumbling voice booming across the room, “you completed the mission following my exact orders. I hope you continue to do so in the future. You’ve passed.”

Without preamble, he throws her the mask as he did on the day of initiation. She genuinely expects it to be Weasel, because he would, but then it’s even worse, because she’s holding Fox instead.

“Thank you,” she says, tone even and face schooled, “Shimura-san.”

The painted eyes stares at her, blank and red around the slits, like a warning or a threat.

 

 

Sasuke goes to Suna’s chuunin exams as a supervisor, where she gets to watch Sakura pass, and stays two weeks without her old teammate for the appointing of the Kazekage. Though the sun’s burned her cheeks redder than the sand dunes at noon, she clutches to the opportunity to remain in the guest room for as long as she can.

“Can we adopt you?” Temari says a few days before the inauguration, watching Sasuke through her darkened glasses. It’s morning, and the four of them sit out on the rooftop patio, sharing a pitcher of iced coffee flavored by cardamom and almond, and scallion pancakes. Warm winter sunlight reflects off the mosaic tiles, blues and greens like the sea miles away. “I like you better than most of the people I work with.”

“I don’t think my team would appreciate that,” Sasuke says, and doesn’t know if she means Team Seven or ANBU, but does know she likes the Suna siblings more than she should. Despite her original reservations about them, she finds something comforting in the familiarity of their broken parts.

As Gaara smiles, thin lipped and perpetually tired, his brother laughs. Purple makeup’s smudged below his left eye where he hadn’t scrubbed it off fully the night before, and they both have impressive bedhead. “You mean _Konoha_ wouldn’t appreciate it,” Kankuro says, matter afact. “Villages don’t like giving up their clans.”

Sasuke doesn’t know how to answer that, so she sips her coffee to avoids having to.

“I can request you for joint missions,” Gaara says, and eats another piece of his pancake. He doesn’t bother to ask if she wants to continue working with them. “As Kazekage, I won’t be able to go on missions. My siblings will be down a team member. Naruto and Sakura are welcome to join when their apprenticeships end.”

It’s been months since she and Naruto have seen each other. Ever since her mission in Ishi, she’s woken in middle of the night from dreams of Jiraiya returning from their training alone. But she keeps this to herself, and says instead, “Okay. If the Godaime lets me, I mean.”

Temari smiles. Kankuro groans, and says Konoha’s too strict.

Part of Sasuke’s restriction comes from Konoha’s limitation of high ranking shinobi caused by Suna, but she keeps this thought to herself. Around them, the landscape and buildings blend into hues of brown and yellow and red. When she tips her head to back to look the blue, blue sky, she spies a vulture soaring overhead, seeking its meal of carrion always promised by the sight of Hidden Village walls.

 

 

After Sasuke returns from Suna, she goes on her first mission with the incomplete Team Seven since Naruto left. It’s February, and the ground of the southern Land of Earth is doused in a layer of snow too thin for the bounty hunter they’re tracking to disguise his footprints.

Now it’s midday, but the light quality is still poor from the thick cover of clouds. “Everything’s grey,” Sakura says from their place in the leafless flowering bush, peering out between the twigs. “It’s making it hard to see. Or, not see, but make stuff out.”

She’s at a disadvantage with her ordinary eyes, because the filtered, grey light distorts simple shadows to create new shapes. The Sharingan cuts the effects of the natural optical illusion; Sasuke has hers activated, and Kakashi has his forehead protector pushed up, running his automatically. Through it, the forest loses any of its secrets, stripped of its privacy.

“He’s not near us yet,” Kakashi says, adjusting his position against the tree. They’re all bundled in warm clothing, but this time he forgot his scarf at the employer’s house. Sasuke forgot her gloves. “But he’ll come.”

A gust sweeps by, rattling the branches around them and into them, the cold biting through her thick clothes. She sees Sakura shiver, and Sasuke pulls the hat Asuma gave her over her ears.

“Before nighttime?” Sakura says, hopeful. The cold’s turned her lips and cheeks pink to match her hair.

Kakashi laughs, short and quiet, as Sasuke scans the area. Last week she had her first real ANBU mission with Monkey and Lion, and began this one twelve hours after she returned. In the past four days since she left, she hasn’t slept more than a few hours. She hasn’t slept well at all since Suna. The unsteady feeling’s returned, turning her concentration fuzzy.

“I see something,” Kakashi says in the same moment she spies the chakra signature nearing from the west. “Ready?”

“As always,” Sasuke says, unenthused, and pulls a kunai from her pouch. Sakura swallows hard and tenses, ready for assault.

Before the target even knows what’s happening, he’s dead, an electrified kunai buried in his chest and an ordinary shuriken protruding from his eye. Sakura didn’t have the chance to move.

 

 

It’s April when Sasuke sees Naruto again, deep in the Land of Fire while returning from a solo mission Tsunade promised to keep her from. Her mask’s in her pack, along her weapons pouch and collapsed bo and armor, and she’s wearing a thin white jacket zipped over her under uniform to guard against the chill. Despite the inadequacy of the sunlight, she wears the glasses Temari gave her to hide the Sharingan necessary for her journey home. Without her enhanced vision, she never would have noticed her friend, because there’s a shield around the campsite guarding against outsiders sensing chakra, but not against seeing.

He’s not training when she approaches, but stitching new fabric for his forehead protector, and notices her as she rounds a nearby tree. “Sasuke,” he says, on his feet in an instant, project forgotten at the sight of her. “How’d you end up here? What’re you doing?”

Over the past year, he grew significantly, and though he was always taller than she was, she now only reaches his nose. For once, there’s also not a single sign of orange on his clothes, dress in black on black like her today without a jacket to balance it out. He’s smiling, wide and revealing all his teeth, and before she has a chance to reply or move, he’s over to her, arms around her in a hug.

She returns it, the straps of her heavy pack digging into her shoulders. “I’m on a mission,” she says, which is half a lie, and then fully lies, “We were scouting separately for information. I need to meet up with the team at midnight a couple hours away. Have you been here the whole time?”

“No, we travel a lot,” Naruto says, though the area looks long lived in. It’s a manmade clearing, a narrow area between a clump of birch trees, the underbrush cut or burned away to leave room for a firepit and two erected tents. When they leave, it’s going to be clear to anyone looking that two people were here.  “Jiraiya’s publicist is in the town over, so we had to come back for like a week. Team? You mean Kakashi-sensei and Sakura? Is Sakura a chuunin yet? I haven’t gotten any updates in a _year._ What’s been happening? And what’s with the glasses?”

“Wait,” she says, too surprised to formulate an actual response immediately, “you haven’t heard anything? At all? How?” She knows that people talk about her, however unfavorably, with relative frequency in other countries. It’s side effect of her status as Uchiha Itachi’s little sister.

Shrugging, Naruto says, “We don’t go into villages that much. Well, I don’t. Jiraiya does for food and stuff. And it’s not like people talk about chuunin anyway, I guess. But seriously, what’s with the glasses?”

This is her teammate, or her old teammate, not a stranger, so she pushes up her sunglasses like a headband and tries not to feel hurt when his eyes widen. “It turns out the Mangekyo Sharingan makes you go blind,” she says. “It’s not that bad. I’ve never gotten worse than blurred vision. Sakura’s a prodigy when it comes to medical jutsu, so she just heals it, but I can’t navigate the woods blind until I see her.”

“But you’re hurting yourself,” Naruto says, gesturing vaguely to her face. “How’s that okay to anyone?”

“Because it works?”

She sees Jiraiya’s chakra signature before he appears, slipping through the trees with grocery bags in his arms. “I should have known someone would find us this close to Konoha,” he says, putting the bags down on a cut trunk large enough to be a table, but sounds more amused than disgruntled. “What are you doing out here?”

After she repeats her lie, she adds to her friend, “Sakura, Neji, and Shikamaru were advanced the chuunin. So were Temari and Kankuro in Suna. Gaara’s Kazekage.”

“Kazekage?” Naruto says. “What? Seriously?”

“He’s really good,” she says, instinctively defensive. Jiraiya raises an eyebrow in question. “What? He is.”

“I’m not saying I doubt it or anything,” Naruto says, hands held up in mock surrender. “I’m just annoyed ‘cause he beat me. But what about you? What’ve you been up to? Is Orochimaru still after you? Are you still running into your brother? You know, besides blinding yourself.”

Before she can answer, Jiraiya says, “She’s a jounin.”

Naruto’s eyebrows draw in, and his chakra spikes near his heart and pulse. The second reserve stays dormant, drifting but contained. “You’re a jounin?” he says, and then turns to look at Jiraiya. “Wait, why do you know? I don’t know anything.”

“I didn’t want you to get competitive and beg to go back,” he says bluntly, and adds to Sasuke, “Impressive, kid. I think you beat the record for advancement time. You can join us for dinner if you’d like. I bought udon in town, and there’s enough.”

Though the weight of the pack on her shoulders reminds her she should leave, she agrees, and follows her friend over the tree stump. There’s a blanket around it, damp from the grass still wet from the morning rain, and failing to hide the stray sticks and pebbles beneath it. “Thanks,” she says, fidgeting until she finds a comfortable position next to Naruto. His shoulders are broader, and most of the childhood softness in his face gone, only emphasizing the whisker marks more. “So how far along are you with your training?”

“I’m doing really good,” Naruto says, tearing into the brown paper bags as Jiraiya takes bowls from the long duffle by the remains of a fire. “I can control up to two tails out now, and I’m way better at all my jutsu. I bet I can even beat you at taijutsu.”

A week ago, Sasuke knocked Miyariku Naoko—Sparrow—out with a hit to the back of the head seven minutes into a fight. The likelihood of Naruto outranking her is slim. “You’ll have to prove it when you come back,” she says, and thanks Jiraiya when he passes her a bowl. “So is this what you’ve been doing? Living in the woods and eating takeout?”

“Not all the time,” Naruto says, and explains that sometimes they find inns, but only when Jiraiya thinks the owner is worth wooing.

For the next few hours, they exchange stories of their year apart, remaining by the stump even as it gets dark and Jiraya moves to light a fire. Before she leaves, Naruto hugs her goodbye, and tells her to find him again soon.

 

 

“I want to know,” Shimura-san says when he summons Sasuke for a private audience the day before she’s meant to leave for Suna’s Midsummer Festival, “how exactly you controlled the Kazekage in his bijuu form, Uchiha.”

They’re not inside the compound, but his house’s study for better privacy. The walls here are as bare as those in his office, but his desk does hold one photo turned away from her. A closed file and box of matches lie on the center of the desk. Outside, late spring crickets sing, and the humidity seeps with the draft through the open window. In the khaki pants and green t-shirt that make up her jounin uniform, she feels about the suffocate. His inquiry only worsens the constriction in his throat.

Shrugging, she answers, “I’ve said this before. I really just guessed that genjutsu would work and lucked out.”

As he sighs, long and tired, Shimura-sama reclines in his high back chair, useless arm supported by a sling and other relaxed in his lap. “I believe you,” he says, in a way that implies he doesn’t, “but now you and I know it’s possible. So it begs the question, can it be repeated?”

Again, she shrugs. Her hair, down to the underwire of her bra and the longest it’s been in years, frizzes in its bun.

“You’re young, Sasuke,” he says, words laced with regret she finds confusing. “Younger than I’m comfortable taking on as full member of an ANBU in recent years—is everything all right?”

Despite her effort to keep her expression even, her mouth twitched as she bit her cheek to stop herself from interjecting. “Yes, Shimura-san,” she says, though the thought loudest in her head is he has an interesting way of saying he acknowledges she knows he took on her brother at this age. “I just don’t really like being called young.”

He smiles, closed mouth and sad, and stands, chair scraping against the wooden floor. The desk lamp rotates his shadow across the bare walls as he passes, moving away from him as he moves towards her. “After all you’ve been through, I supposed it is condescending,” he says, coming stand at her side of the desk next to the chair, looking down at her. Making her feel small. “But regardless, what I say is true. These days, thirteen is a young age to become a jounin. Certainly to become an ANBU. Your status may have accelerated your advancement, but in any past generation, it would have happened without political intervention. I sincerely believe you deserve this position. Which is why I’m giving you a special mission.”

When she doesn’t answer, eyes trained at his shadow on the wall in front of her, he continues, “In Amegakure, there’s an organization known as the Akatsuki. Your brother is a member. Our intelligence suggests they’re after jinchuuriki like Kazekage. If have some measure of control, then so does he, and that’s—”

“He can’t.”

“Excuse me?”

Shimura-sama isn’t used to interruptions, but Sasuke can’t listen to any more of this. “Itachi worked under you, Shimura-san,” she says.  “So you know it doesn’t take long for Itachi to realize he can do something and to perfect it. I’m his sister, but I’m not _him_. Our Sharingan are different. If Itachi could control whatever that thing was, whoever he works for would have all of them by now. Itachi can’t.”

After a short pause, Shimura says, “You’re right. Of course. I’m sorry for assuming you were so similar. Even so, that does not negate the fact that the Akatsuki is looking the jinchuuriki. They cannot be allowed to capture them. There are nine in total. Most are protected by villages, but two aren’t. One’s even loose. You’re going to be responsible for bringing both to Konoha, however long it takes. You may begin after you return from your diplomatic mission in Suna. Further details are in the files on my desk. Memorize them here, and then burn it. I’ll leave you be so you can concentrate.”

Her heart flutters, skipping beats, worsening her difficulty breathing until he’s stepped out of the room. Then she grabs the file, activates her Sharingan, and scans through the thick report. This should go through the Godaime, she thinks as she reads through the information about the Saiken and Isobu. If Shimura-san is eliminating the Hokage’s intervention, then something’s wrong.

Before destroying the file, Sasuke removes the page ordering her to capture, not kill, and deliver to the compound. Then she drops the file in the metal wastebin at her feet, strikes a match, and watches the report burn to ash.

 

 

In mid-July, Sasuke tracks the Isobu to the border of the Land of Sound, and turns away from the mission because even Shimura has limits on where he’ll send her. It’s there that she meets Itachi, and knocks away his kunai with her bo in the moment before potential impact.

“Sasuke?” he says, noticeably startled, inevitably recognizing her despite her mask, the two inches she’d grown, and the slight curve to her body she’d developed since they saw each other last. It’s the same way she’ll always known him; with their white skin, dark hair, and narrow builds, they are forever each other’s distorted mirror image. “You’re a—what? Why?”

The surprise turns to a flash of disappointed anger. They’re in the grasslands of the north, colorful, summer wildflowers and bluegrass growing to her knees, and exposed at all sides, but in her annoyance, she pushes up her mask to rest on the top of her head. “Are you seriously mad?” she says, frowning, twisting her bo to rest vertically into the earth like a staff. It’s brown, easily disguised as a twig but obvious here where there’s nothing but grass and rocky outcroppings. “ _You?_ ”

“I wouldn’t have thought you wanted any part of the ANBU, Sasuke,” Itachi says, anger tight in his voice and around his mouth. He’s not in his uniform cloak, but pants and shirt, and sunglasses like hers when she tries to hide the Sharingan, and she wonders if international terrorist organizations allow their members time off. “If you think it puts you in a safer position—”

“Wait, no, are you actually trying to tell me to get out?” she says, her perception of his anger changing. Mom lashed out when anxious, but not him. “I can’t—Itachi, you lost the right to lecture me on my decisions a long time ago.”

He steps forward. Her grip on her bow tightens, but she doesn’t move. Sometimes she still feels unsteady, or like she can sleep forever or never again, but around him she feels normal. Exasperated and sullen and annoyed, and uncomfortably like she needs to make him proud. She’s still him, in a younger, smaller, female form, but she can rail against that with the tenacity of a normal little sister. That’s what makes this so absurd, breaking all protocol fifty miles from the border of the country run by the man who wants to own her by revealing her face. But it’s just returning the favor in a way, because eight years ago he broke ANBU protocol to tell his parents and little sister and best friend.

In three strides, he’s over to her, and she doesn’t step away even as he pulls the mask from her head. “The gave you Fox?” he says, pushing up his sunglasses and looking from the painted, mischievous face to hers. Even now, her heart beat speeds up at sight of his Sharingan, a part of her always afraid he’ll use it on her again.

“Well, you know how Shimura Danzo is,” she says, and something loosens in her chest at that, calming her down, because she hasn’t had the chance to talk to anyone since the Godaime pushed the form into her lap. “He threw me Weasel the first day. Can I have my mask back now?”

She snatches it away before he can hand it to her, but hangs it at her waist instead of placing it back on. Itachi’s expression has smoothed, but his shoulders are still tensed. “Staying will kill you,” he says, “or worse. Did he approach you about joining?”

“No,” she says. “I developed the Mangekyo Sharingan and the Godaime sent me in. Fast track training to kill Orochimaru. If you’re thinking of using genjutsu to scare me into—”

“I’m not,” he says, corner of his mouth twisting down. “Is that—”

She repeats, “No,” and frowns again. “You’ve asked enough questions. I get some. Who did you show me last time? _What_ did you show me? I’m still getting nightmares, and—”

“He’s someone who’s already taken an interest in you,” her brother says, silencing her, because she doesn’t like it when people notice her. “You haven’t done as I told you, so I’m asking you to listen to my warning instead. Find a reason to get out.”

“I’m not here for Orochimaru,” she says, looking down and away so her loose hair falls across her face. She’s broken enough rules today. Her brother’s a murderer, but he keeps his secrets. “He wants me to find the Isobu and Saiken jinchuuriki and bring them back to Konoha.”

Suddenly, his hand’s around her elbow, grip so tight she thinks her bone might pop from the socket. She snaps her head up, eyes wide, Mangekyo Sharingan instinctively activated, but before she can speak, he says, “Find the Saiken jinchuuriki first and kill him.”

“What? That’s directly disobeying—”

“Sasuke, for once, _do as you are told._ ”

She pulls her arm away and stumbles back, ankle hitting against briars hidden in the long grass. On her elbow is a hand print, violently red and ready to bruise. Terrified, confused, she asks for the first time, “Why am I still alive? You worry too much for it be that I was too worthless to kill.”

That statement defined the first two years after the massacre as much as the event itself did, and only lost its impact once something worse happened. Now he looks at her, red eyed and his face flushed from the July heat, nineteen instead of thirteen, and she thinks he never believed her worthless at all. He’s the only one who never has. There’s something horrifying in that, because she hasn’t hated him in years even when she should, which makes her just as guilty in the act of caring.

“You’re my sister,” he says simply, perhaps realizing he can’t lie to her the way he used to. “I wanted you to be safe.”

“So you tortured me into a coma by making me watch my family die?” she says. “What’s wrong with the ANBU, Itachi? Why should I quit my village’s elite operations unit at the word of a traitor?”

“Stay,” he says, “if you want, but don’t make trouble for yourself by asking questions. Now you should leave before an Oto-nin wandering too far from the border notices you.”

She should attack him, like a good and loyal Konoha kunoichi. “I’ll see you soon, Itachi,” she says instead, and collapses her bo in half to fit comfortably across her back.

As she walks away, she feels Itachi’s eyes on her, and wonders if she can access the records room without alerting anyone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am aware that I fucked with ANBU.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasuke learns some unsettling information and adapts the best she can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I'm terrible at updating. Enjoy, guys!

Sasuke spends the July she turns fourteen hunting bijuu in the hillsides of the north without proper authorization. In the August following, she goes to Suna at Gaara’s official request, and stays for a series of joint village missions with Temari and Kankuro as her teammates.

“Konoha hasn’t asked for you back yet,” Kankuro says on the first of September, which marks the beginning of Sasuke’s fourth week in their spare room. “Maybe Suna’s getting the Sharingan after all.”

“I should’ve known you only liked me for my eyes,” she says, and catches Temari’s foot when she tries to nudge her in the side. “I’m insulted.”

Temari laughs. “Oh, no,” she says, wiggling her ankle free. “We can’t have that.”

It’s early dusk, the sun just recently down with the daytime heat steadily loosing its intensity. They’re back in Suna now, the three of them celebrating a mission well done at an outdoor restaurant in the village square. By the fountain in the square’s center, a musician plays for the birds, his thin fingers plucking the strings of his instrument. The metal table’s round and small with a stained glass top that catches the rising moonlight. Though they’ve been here a while already, they haven’t ordered food; instead, Kankuro drinks beer and Temari nurses a drink of something bubbling and red. Sasuke sips at a glass of golden ume wine, unsure whether or not she likes the harsh aftertaste.

At fourteen, she’s of legal drinking age in Suna. It’s another two years before she can have a glass of anything more than ceremonial sake in Konoha.

Kankuro finishes his second bottle in one long gulp, and looks around the square. “This place is dead on Mondays,” he says, and frowns without fear of cracking warpaint. They’re dressed casually, their work temporarily finished. “We need to bring you here on a normal Saturday night, right, Temari?”

A young couple shares a plate a few tables down, leaning close to each other and smiling privately. On the patio next door, a group of friends around Temari’s age steal food from each other’s dishes. That’s something about Suna that Sasuke still isn’t used to, because in Konoha, people don’t share dishes, or eat directly from one another’s plates or chopsticks. For a village that’s rumored to be so much more brutal than Konoha, she finds each time time she comes that people are friendlier.

“Then try telling Gaara to stop assigning us missions that go over a Sunday,” Temari says, running her fingers through her hair. It’s loose, falling just past her shoulders to the length Sasuke’s was until a week earlier when she grew too frustrated with it and cut it again.

Across the square, three girls stumble drunk from a dimly lit bar doored with a curtain, giggling and supporting each other with linked elbows. “Happy New Year!” the redheaded one in green shouts to the sky as the other two burst into a song Sasuke’s never heard. Then they slip down an alley into the night, and disappear.

Over the past two years that Sasuke’s visited here regularly, she’s learned the quirks of the village character—she doesn’t know the square on a Saturday night, but she can speak the dialect, knows the popular folktales, and can list cultural norms. Temari’s bought her enough “appropriate” clothing to form half a wardrobe, which stays in the guest room even when Sasuke’s gone. She can speak informally to a good number of government officials, and she’s known well enough for other shinobi to ask her advice on technique.

Konoha’s home, with Sakura, Kakashi, and eventually Naruto. Though she’ll never be Hokage, and has no desire to be, Konoha’s home because it’s her _birthright._ But there, she also has the ANBU, and whoever broke into her house. It has the compound. It has the labyrinth of dark alleyways. It still has the space that Itachi left behind.

For all Suna’s faults, she finds it harder to leave every time she comes.

She goes to sip her drink, only to realize it’s done. “We going to need another mission soon,” she says, setting the glass aside, “if I’m going to be allowed to stay. Konoha won’t let me stay away without good reason.”

With a shrug, Kankuro says, “Whatever. We can lie for a week about having important business. It’s not like anything’s going on right now. What do they even need you for?”

“Like I know,” she says, which is only partially a lie. The Godaime doesn’t want her for anything much, but Shimura-san won’t stand for her to be gone for long. “They’ll think of something.”

A breeze sweeps by, teasing their hair and the hems of their clothes. Temari smiles, and tucks her bangs behind her ear. “Don’t worry,” she says. “It shouldn’t be that hard to get you back here, right?”

Then she finishes her drink, and calls loudly for another round. Sasuke watches her two friends, the Suna jinchuuriki’s siblings with their easy smiles, and thinks she never wants to hunt another bijuu again.

 

 

Two months later, she tracks the Saiken jinchuuriki to a muddy road on a mountainside in the Land of Hot Water. To the right of them is a sheer cliff drop leading to a river churning dark grey in reflection of the clouds that drip out rain in a precursor to a thunderstorm. Lightning cracks the sky, silent lines of purple and blue, and thunder comes delayed in the distance in the direction of the curtain of water rapidly approaching.

For all his power and reputation, the missing-nin ten feet away doesn’t look confident about fighting in a storm.

He doesn’t shift immediately, unlike Gaara, and his water-based attacks render her family jutsu useless, but not her lightning ones. It takes one Chidori, a throw of electric sendon, and a few connected hits from her bo to get him on the ground. She’s injured too, breathing hard and bleeding from a cut down her back and another along her forearm with two fingers on her left hand fractured when the change starts. The shift begins with his hands and feet, and then moves up his arms and legs, and she, for the first time, lets the Mangekyo Sharingan bleed over her normal one and—

The area is white, pulsating in a soft, unassuming glow not bright enough to hurt her eyes. Part of her is still aware of her body standing in the area, rapidly losing chakra, while something like her conscience is standing unmasked across in front of him. He sits cross-legged on the ground like a monk, eyes wide and face as pale as hers. Behind him is the Saiken, head breaking through the bars of a jail cell and growling. She watches its tails whip at the darkness. This might not be her physical body, but the chakra exuding from it leaves her chapped raw.

It snaps its jaws before its human prison can speak. _A Uchiha,_ it says, voice coming from around her and inside her head all at once. _I thought this power died with Madara._

“What the fuck?” the jinchuuriki says, standing, readying himself into fighting stance like that can do anything in here. “How are you doing this? Aren’t you Uchiha Itachi’s sister? I’m not going with you that easily.”

“I’m not trying to get you to come with me,” she says, even though she should, but Itachi told her to kill him and sometimes she’s still his little sister. “Now _you’re_ going to go back into your cell and stay there, understand?”

The Saiken lashes out as far as it go, rushing towards her from its cell and also towards her physical body. As it reaches her, she stretches out her hand, touches it nose, and in a moment, it’s locked away.

Then she’s back in her body, sitting on the ground with her head spinning. The missing-nin’s still standing, panting, but any evidence of his secondary chakra reserve or the Saiken’s body is gone. Even without that, though, he recovers quickly from the shock and dashes to the side to evade her attack before checking into her, knocking her against the cliff face. Her head rings, her vision momentarily blurs even with the Sharingan, and by the time she reorients herself, the area’s covered by thick, impenetrable mist she hasn’t seen since the Land of Waves. It sweeps over her, rendering her nearly blind, so she goes through the hand seals of the jutsu she stole from the Iwa-nin two years earlier to turn herself as invisible to her opponent as he is to her.

His laugh echoes through the mist, ricocheting off the cliff to circle around her without a discernible origin. “You’re good, Uchiha,” he says as she creeps across the ground, footsteps as light and silent as a fox. “I’ve heard about your brother. I’ve heard less about you. I hear he killed your family. I wonder, if you’re this clever, and if he’s as clever as people say, then how come neither of you is dead?”

“Family’s complicated,” she says dryly, and surges lightning through the mist from her fingertips, cancelling it out with the reaction of his chakra against hers. “There you are.”

As she says it, it begins to rain, water falling in heavy droplets that burst against the ground, turning the path rapidly from dirt to mud. A natural fog rolls down from the summit, meandering like something lazy, or something dead. The river below crashes loud against the rocks, announcing the storm’s worsening disruption, and thunder crashes directly overhead, followed seconds later by a flash of thunder throwing the world around them in sharp relief. This is her territory, bristling and alive with electricity charging the winds steadily picking up speed. She hears him swear, the word stolen by the storm, and watches the secondary reserve begin to flicker inside his primary one.

That’s when the idea comes her, entirely insane and half desperate at the feeling of her own chakra fading. It takes a lot to kill someone like him, more power than she has certainly, so she waits for the next rumble of thunder, lifts her arm, and steals the lightning from the sky.

It strikes him directly in a flash of too many colors for her mind to sort at once, weaker than intended from its imperfect state but good enough after she’s already worn him down. He falls, tumbling in a heap of skin and bones and clothes, his glassy eyes left staring towards the storm that killed him. Even the secondary reserve’s gone dark, dead with its host, silent in its bodily grave.

Exhausted, worn, she collapses into the mud. Her own chakra’s nearly gone, a flame’s flicker tucked somewhere inside her, but still she thinks maybe the Saiken’s only dormant. Perhaps she should be certain to follow Itachi’s instructions just this once, because Shimura Danzo would have cleared the mission with the Godaime if his reasoning was sound. With that justification in mind, she shifts her Sharingan to the Mangekyo, and uses Amaterasu to burn the corpse to a pile of ash.

 

 

For the next three months, Sasuke goes on missions with Sakura and Kakashi, too many pleas for help requesting Team Seven specifically for Shimura-san to snatch her away. It’s during one of these, when a tea trader from the western Land of Fire calls for expensive security, that she spies Itachi and his partner skulking through the village’s snow dappled streets.

A good Konoha-nin would tell her team leader, who sleeps away his shift in Fujimoto-san’s house, or at the very least Sakura, who’s helping investigate leads in the market. Instead, Sasuke says, “I’ll be back. I forgot something,” and slips away to follow her brother, ignoring Sakura’s single quirked eyebrow of disbelief.

Within a few minutes, Itachi’s alone in the alley behind the tanner, his blue skinned partner heading out of town after drawing a child’s attention. She taps him on the shoulder, catching him for once unawares instead of the other way around, and tries not to be too satisfied when he startles.

“ _Sasuke?_ ” he says, voice hoarse, the hand instinctively going to his weapon’s pound falling back to his side. “You’re here?”

He’s dressed down in an attempt to blend in, but his efforts are ruined by his sunglasses. His hair’s shorter, and he’s lost weight, so he seems lost in his warm coat. Suddenly, Sasuke’s reminded of when they were children, and she didn’t understand why she wasn’t allowed in Itachi’s room just because his stomach hurt.

“I’m not after you,” she says, because she doubts the Akatsuki troubles itself with the tea trade. The last time they saw each other, he was finally honest with her, and the effects show themselves now—there’s a worrying spark gnawing at her from his appearance, and his frown is genuinely expressive. “Are you after me?”

“Coincidence,” he says. His cheeks are flushed. “That doesn’t look warm.”

Despite the weather, which is so far below freezing that the snow is ice, she’s only wearing a loose, white sweater. In the past year, she grew just enough that her coat no longer fits. “I’m fine,” she says, though she has to keep her teeth from chattering. “ _You_ don’t look fine. You’re sick.”

She says it decisively, leaving no room for argument. Before he answers, the knob to the tanner’s back door turns, and they move quickly around the corner before the person exits, falling into step. “It’s nothing,” he says as they walk in the shadow of market buildings, hands in their pockets. If he’s lost his right to lecture her, then she’s lost her right to insist in questioning after his health, even when he’s clearly lying. “So. I hear the Saiken jinchuuriki is dead.”

When she returned to Konoha empty-handed, Shimura-san was furious, but hadn’t threatened to see her court martialed. The final page of her unburnt instructions are now on her person at all times, hidden in the inner pocket of jackets or sweaters. “He was too hard to capture,” she says. “I didn’t have any other choice. Am I allowed to know why I risked that?”

A troop of children runs past, struggling to move in the deep snow, laughing loudly. He’s silent, watching them until they turn the corner. Then he says, “They’re dangerous, the Akatsuki. That’s all you need to know.”

“They?” Sasuke says, heartbeat jumping in a way she knows her chakra reflects visibly. “Don’t you mean ‘we?’”

He smiles, thin and brittle, and then coughs into his elbow. “Of course,” he starts, but stops when she grabs his arms, pulling her towards. “Sa—”

“That’s blood,” she says as he retracts his arm. With his black coat, the color isn’t visible but the slickness is, and more than that, she smelled it. “You’re _sick._ Is that the same thing Natsuki had?”

“Sasuke—”

“It is, isn’t it?”

Natsuki was their first cousin, but also their third cousin, who died when Sasuke was three from a hereditary illness eating away at her lungs. Their grandfather died of the same sickness before either of them were born, and Aiko, their second cousin, was just showing signs of it before the massacre. It’s odd, saying a cousin’s name to Itachi when Sasuke so rarely speaks of them at all, and the familiarity of it is offputting.

Frown returning, he says, “It’s not your concern,” failing to understand that regardless of their past together, he’s her brother, and he’ll _always_ be her concern.

Suddenly, from the entrance to the main square, Sakura calls out, “Sasuke? Is that you?” She’s not visible from their position, but Sasuke sees her shadow against the wall, thin and pale on the dark wood.

“Just a minute,” she answers, words carried on the shrill, fast wind whipping through the alleyways. Turning back to her brother before he can disappear, she says, “There’s a lot of activity in this area, so we get requested a lot.”

He reaches out, slow enough that she could move, if she wanted, and taps two fingers to her forehead. “Until next time, Sasuke,” he says, and turns down the same side street as the children, leaving no footprints behind.

After a moment, she steps out into the main square to join her friend, still reeling from what she learned, and how casually she requested seeing him again. “Sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to take that long.”

Sakura looks past Sasuke down the alley, moving her windswept hair from her face absentmindedly. “Who were you talking to?” she asks.

Lying to Sakura or Kakashi never sits right with Sasuke, but she can’t tell the truth. To anyone else, “I miss my family” is a weak justification for treason. “No one,” she says instead. “Just someone asking for directions out of the village.”

Privately, she wonders if Kisame of Kiri knows that she and Itachi aren't as antagonist to each other as a rational person would expect. Sakura presses her lips together, accenting where they’re cracked beneath her chapstick, but doesn’t say whether or not she believes Sasuke’s lie. Snow drifting in the wind settles across her shoulders and hat, and catches on her eyelids.

“Well, come on,” Sakura says, fixing her hat, which is lopsided on her head. “This weather’s the _worst._ Anyway, I think I found something.”

“All right,” Sasuke says, and follows her friend back into the deserted market streets.

 

 

In March, when Danzo leaves for the annual international Bingo Book Summit, Sasuke finally steals into the ANBU archives after a mission, and leaves with a series of pages tucked under her shirt. The secret hidden inside them burns against her skin, blood splattered and smeared with ink even as her coworkers wave her goodbye with tired smiles.

Two hours later, she’s read them through six times with the Sharingan activated, and stands in Kakashi’s sparsely furnished living room with he and Sakura on the couch in front of her. They read more slowly—deliberately, as she bites the inside of her cheek. From the kitchen, she can hear the clock twitch. Sakura shifts, her white cotton hospital scrubs rubbing against the rough fabric of the couch. Kakashi’s wrapped tight in a wool blanket, unmasked and nose rubbed red from tissues after a week of lying here holed up with a severe cold.

He breaks the silence first. “You shouldn’t have taken these,” he says, running his fingers through his bedrest mussed hair. “Sasuke, what the _fuck?_ ”

Though she worked under him for seven months and with him for nearly two years now, this is the first time he’s sworn at her. Sakura jerks her head away from the uncoded contract in her hair, eyebrows raised and lips parted. “ _Sensei_ ,” she says, incredulous, her genin habit and expectations still unbroken.

For the length of a heartbeat, Sasuke says nothing. “Why wouldn’t I?” she says finally. Her hands are shaking. They’ve been shaking since she walked away from the ANBU headquarters. “That’s—that’s proof that he’s _innocent._ ”

“How did you even get it?” Kakashi says as Sakura goes to speak, cutting her off mid-word. His voice is rough, like it has been for the past three days, which only makes him sound angrier. “This has Shimura Danzo’s signature. This is ANBU. You shouldn’t even—” He stops, inhales sharply, coughs, and then says, “Even being a member doesn’t give you liberty to take official paperwork off sight.”

“How long?” Sakura says, glancing between the two of them. “Since you started going on solo missions? You were thirteen.”

With a shrug, Sasuke says, “Itachi was twelve.”

“So what?” her friend says, her free hand balling into a fist on her lap, bunching at her dress. “That isn’t right. Tsunade-sama would never allow—”

“She’s the one who gave me the paperwork.”

Sakura’s mouth snaps shut.

Sighing, he says, “You need to go and put this back where you found it, Sasuke, and then forget you ever saw it.”

“What?” she and Sakura say at the same time. Alone, Sasuke says, “My brother has a price on his head higher than Orochimaru. And he’s _sick._ How am I supposed to ignore this when the Godaime’s the only one who can—”

“Because that’s a legally binding contract,” he says, motioning to the bound stack of papers in Sakura’s hand neatly outlining her family’s murders and her brother’s disgrace with his only clause his little sister’s safety. “These are mission reports. It’s been going as planned. If you present this to anyone, the only person to get in trouble will be you because you’ve taken classified files to expose a classified case. I get it,” he says with another sigh. “He’s your brother. This is wrong. They never should’ve had a kid do this. But they made sure it was legal.”

Ever since the day in that small outlying village in the Land of Fire’s outskirts where she learned her brother was sick, he broke his own cover and established a method of communication. Nothing is a more effective messenger than a summons, as it turns out, and she’s alone enough outside of Konoha that they’ve managed to meet four times. They haven’t talked about their shared history and rarely their mission, but she’s watched him deteriorate. She’s known for a while now that Itachi’s still the brother who learned how to braid hair just so he could do hers before her first day at the Academy. This just confirmed it.

Legal or not, she can’t accept that there’s nothing she can do. Pressure builds behind her eyes and in her throat, but she forces it down, unwilling to cry.

Sakura neatly places the contract on the end table beside her. “Sasuke,” she says. Her tone’s careful, like Sasuke’s some back alley kitten too afraid to leave her darkened corner. “How do you know he’s sick when you haven’t seen him in _over a year?_ ”

“You two have talked,” Kakashi says, and coughs again into his elbow. “How many times?” When Sasuke, uncomfortable under their judgmental gazes, admits to a few times, he says, “Of all the—he’s a missing-nin.”

“No he’s not!”

“You didn’t know that!”

Though she wants to say she did, the words die in her mouth. The ticking clock in the kitchen seems to grow louder.

With a sigh of her own, Sakura says, “Kakashi-sensei, isn’t she kind of right, though? He’s not, so there shouldn’t be anything wrong with that, right?”

“No,” he says bluntly. “No,” he says again, more firmly, when Sasuke frowns. “No one’s supposed to know. It’s in the contract. That includes you. Both parties have been upholding their sides of the deal, so it would be a good idea if no one found out that he stopped upholding part of it now. It’s danger for—”

“Really?” she says, the word tumbling out before she can stop it, because the whole contract may have bothered her but Konoha’s signing party’s complete disregard for her brother’s singular clause is what angers her the most. “They both did? Yeah, Konoha did a great job protecting me by leaving me alone in the place where I witnessed a murderer when it had available orphan housing. No one ever even checked up on me. Even orphan housing has that.”

“I always thought that was weird,” Sakura says, scrunching her nose. “Mom said it was a clan thing.”

“That’s what I thought,” Sasuke says, “but if Konoha operates anything like any other village, then it shouldn’t.” By now, she hasn’t been to every minor village, but she’s been to all the major ones. In Konoha, she’s the only orphan of a major clan, but that’s a common childhood status found in the rest of the world.

Frowning, Kakashi says, “I’m not going to disagree with you. It doesn’t take a contract to tell me that much. But it’s a easy thing to argue against.”

“But—”

“Even if you did present this to the Godaime,” he says, “and she did decide to listen, Sasuke, it’d never work. It’s been years. There’s no proof your brother hasn’t changed sides just because of proximity and time.”

Her vision blurs. She digs her nails into her palm, forcing the feeling back. “No,” she says, struggling to keep her voice even. “You’re wrong. I’ve talked to him enough to know.” There’s a long moment where neither of them say anything, but they glance at each other in silent conversation as though they don’t expect her to understand. “Don’t you trust me?”

Cringing, Sakura says, “Well...you didn’t know yet? I mean, like, I don’t get how this is legal at all, but.” The statement ends there, at the beginning of a clause but not trailing off. Decisive. Left for someone else to finish.

“It’s not you,” Kakashi says as Sasuke goes to protest. “We worked together. Me and your brother. I guess you could say we were friends. It’s not like he just wanted you alive because you have a claim as heir. I don’t think even switching sides could get him to stop loving you. I’ve told you that before.”

In the past year and a half, she’d spent such little time in Konoha that she’d forgotten what it felt like to be considered a safety risk. That day in the woods when her eyes changed, Kakashi claimed she was considered a risk to herself, not to the village, but looking now at Sakura’s lip caught between her teeth and his furrowed brow, Sasuke thinks that isn’t true anymore. She’s graduated from panic attacks to trusting suspected missing-nin. It’s a wonder she ever made it this far at all.

She takes a deep breath, and glances at her feet, unable to handle their expressions. “I’ll put them back,” she says, conceding that they’re right, and the only one to face any consequences will be her.

There’s a pause, like they’re waiting for her to say it. “Good,” Kakashi says when she doesn’t. “I’m not agreeing with the deal, Sasuke. You just shouldn’t suffer anymore because of it than you already have. And try leave ANBU. It’s bad for you for more reasons than—”

“I don’t think Shimura-san will let me,” she says, “and the reason why is classified.”

If she can’t argue against the injustice of her family’s treatment, then they can’t argue against this. She stares unblinking at Kakashi’s glassy, fever glazed eye, and only backs down when they all agree to let the situation lie.

 

 

In the days following the conversation about the old mission report, Kakashi and the Godaime have a meeting that results in Sasuke’s unofficial, several month suspension from solo missions.

“What else was he supposed to do?” Sakura says in the privacy of their yellow living room when Sasuke finally asks her friend if she knows what he said. Sasuke had received a mission to Suna that _happened_ to coincide with an ambassadorial meeting, as though to ensure even her journey there and back was properly supervised. “He just said he was worried about you.”

A few weeks later, on her first ANBU mission in months, Monkey said Konoha did “this” sometimes—sent members on several months of ordinary missions with old teammates to keep their friends and family from becoming too suspicious of their secrecy because only spouses are allowed to know. She complains to her brother through his crow, without being too specific, so often he promises to teach her to summon next time they each other.

By June, Shimura-san formally requests she be allowed out again under his jurisdiction. Sasuke’s been on her best behavior since this first began, so she is allowed, but only after returning from Suna. The Midsummer festival, which Gaara requested her for early, is meant as an unofficial test run to see how she copes with a mission alone, or so she assumes, and she spends the week up to departure feeling suffocated by the late spring humidity that thickens by the day.

Then, on the day before she leaves, Naruto _finally_ returns.

He ambushes her in the front door her apartment, where he was sitting with Sakura, when Sasuke walks in after her final debriefing, sweeping her up in his arms and chattering about missing her. “Sakura said you’re leaving _tomorrow_ ,” he says, setting her down. Sakura watches them from the couch, smiling fondly. “That’s not fair.”

Sasuke pats his arm, winded from shock. “Yeah, no,” she says, turning to shut the door. Naruto’s stares at her with his blue, blue eyes, his hands hovering like he wants to touch her again to be certain she’s really there—as though she’s the one who left for over two years with only an hour’s warning. “Um. What? Not that I’m complaining, but why?”

“Jiraiya-sama said he didn’t trust my landlord to actually keep my place,” he says, shrugging. For the first time, she has to look up fully, because he’s even taller than last they saw each other. His shoulders filled out. His khaki shorts and plain grey tshirt give illusion that he’s more relaxed, though his voice is still a note too loud.

“It makes sense,” says Sakura. It’s only noon and a Tuesday; she shouldn’t be home. Her boss released her early, Sasuke thinks, because her friend is still in her hospital scrubs. “He probably won’t want an apartment empty for that many graduations.”

In the lower end of Konoha’s residential district, there are a few buildings that cater to orphans just graduated, or who just came of age, and no longer have their rent paid by the village. The apartments are two rooms, are barely larger than a studio, and not much better than orphan housing, but really they’re paying for a lock of their door.

Naruto returning like this, right before she leaves for Suna and restarts her ANBU career, is almost too much to handle. “Yeah,” she says, though it sounds faint even to her. “So, what’ve you been doing?”

For the next few hours, they all sit under the red glow of the tiny paper lanterns suspended on a string across the ceiling, and discuss the past two years. Sasuke doesn’t mention that she saw Naruto in the woods, and neither does he. No one says a word about Itachi or solo missions or bijuu, dead or alive. She and Sakura don’t tell their teammate about the ANBU, though she doubts that will remain secret from him for long.

They stay that way until it grows dark outside the open windows and Kakashi knocks, asking if they want dinner. “We can even get ramen,” he says, and sighs dramatically in a sentiment Sasuke shares.

As she looks to Naruto, who’s beaming with his hair glowing orange in the lantern light, she’s struck by the sudden terrible feeling that leaving tomorrow is the worst decision she’ll ever make.

 

 

“Now that Naruto’s come back,” Gaara said when Sasuke told them about her teammate’s return to the village over a round of drinks and a game of cards, “I’m sure you’ll want to get to Konoha as quickly as possible.”

She laughed, the terrible feeling from three days before gone and solidly replaced by the familiar sense of relief. “Oh, no,” she said. “I missed him, but—I don’t know. Keep me here as long as you can.”

That was a week ago. Just hours before Midsummer festival, she receives word from Shimura-san informing her not to return to Konoha and not to remain to Suna longer than she needs, because her mission has taken a long enough hiatus.

“You never get a break,” Temari says, fitting the kanzashi of trailing willow leaves and hydrangea petals into Sasuke’s hair, held there with jade pins. She’s wearing one of Temari’s furisode kimono this year, which is nicer than any she’s owned, cornflower blue with a red hiyoku and obi, and decorated like the dawn sky. “I would’ve thought they’d ease you back into it more.”

There’s a knock on the door and, without waiting for a reply, Kankuro enters, Gaara right behind him, reviewing notes. Unlike Temari and Sasuke, neither of them are dressed for the festival, but yukata aren’t as complicated as kimono. Without looking up, Gaara says, “As Kazekage, I can’t ask you specifically, but is there reason for concern?”

In a few days, she needs to leave to fight the untethered Isobu without aid or any hope of back up. Though Sasuke trusts her skills, she doesn’t trust them enough to be confident in her odds in this fight. “No,” she says anyway.

“Bullshit,” Kankuro says, leaning back against Temari’s dresser, arms crossed, frowning. “Well, I’m not Kazekage, so fuck village differences. They aren’t sending you after Orochimaru, aren’t they? Because if they’re that willing to kill you, I’m taking leave and—”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” she says dryly, standing to change places with Temari, “but you don’t need to worry about that. No one risks putting me anywhere near Oto. The carnations and comb, right?”

The comb’s rounded and lacquered black and gold in contrast to the white flowers, a color scheme reflected in Temari’s kimono. Though Sasuke isn’t jealous of her friend, and has never felt jealous of another person’s appearance before, she does find herself feeling remarkably subpar in comparison. It’s an unfamiliar sensation, and unwanted, managing to cut through her discomfort from Kankuro’s offer of assistance.

As she fits the comb into her friend’s bun, Temari says, “If it’s so important that you can’t even go back yet, the least they can do is send you Konoha back up. Isn’t your Konoha team supposed to be amazing?”

“Kakashi and Sakura are brilliant,” Sasuke says, “and I guess I believe Naruto when he says he is.”

At the sound of Naruto’s name, Gaara looks up from his festival speak, his green eyes catching the end table light. “No,” he says. “Hatake Kakashi perhaps, but not your old teammates. If it’s serious enough to warrant an order like this, then they wouldn’t send chuunin.”

Sasuke doesn’t think of Naruto and Sakura that way, as her _old_ teammates, but he’s not wrong. “I can’t get too specific,” she says, because she wants to, and because Temari is a jounin now even if Kankuro isn’t, and because hunting the Isobu alone is suicide, “but there might be reason for concern. Maybe. I guess we’ll find out.”

“You mean if you die?” Temari says, and rolls her eyes.

“Her luck’s too shitty to die on a mission,” Kankuro says, glancing her over from head to foot and Gaara returns his attention to the speech he’s had memorized for days. “No, when Sasuke dies, it’s going to be from falling down the stairs. Or an allergic reaction to soy sauce or apples. Something like that.”

“That’s probably true,” Sasuke says, backing away from the chair, satisfied with Temari’s hair.

Temari turns her head to look at the result, and smiles approvingly before saying, “Thanks. But seriously, if even you’re saying it’s bad—do you want back up, Sasuke?”

When Gaara says he never mentioned either of his siblings having the right to take sick days whenever they wanted, they both ignore him.

With an uncomfortable, single-shoulder shrug, Sasuke says, “It’s nothing I can’t handle. I was already doing it before someone claimed they were concerned for my health or whatever it was.”

“I bet they all envy your awesome skills,” Kankuro says, and stretches with a yawn before adding, “We should get ready. Having to dress up is ridiculous.”

“It’s tradition,” Gaara says. The siblings ignore that, too.

Sasuke bites her cheek. In Suna, they don’t know about her panic attacks, or that she wasn’t always comfortable falling asleep in a huddle with her team on missions. Though she thinks they’d understand better than Kakashi or Sakura, she can’t tell them about Itachi. She might trust her skills to an extent, but she isn’t so good that anyone has the right to be envious.

As the boys file out, Kankuro leading his brother with a shove on the shoulder, Temari says, “What does Naruto think? I mean, when you left, the two of you’d barely even left the Land of Fire, right? You’re really different. I’m guessing he is.”

Again, Sasuke shrugs. “We didn’t really talk about it,” she says. There was so much to cover between the three of them that there was very little time to react to any of it. “He’s more, I don’t know, mature. Missed Konoha a lot. I thought Gaara was going to invite him and Sakura the moment I told him. They’d have made it time.”

“I can’t speak for my brother,” Temari says, looking from Sasuke to the door and back, “but it’s different. Is it weird to say you’re ours? Because you’re ours. Inviting your old team’s like sharing you.” There’s a pause, and then she says, “No. That was weird.”

“It’s fine,” Sasuke says. “It’s not like I suggested it either.”

At the time, she hadn’t known to put the words the reason why the idea disturbed her so much, but she does now. Suna’s hers, in a way, and she doesn’t want to share that. More than that, she doesn’t want her friends from Konoha to see she’s so deeply ingrained that the Kazekage’s siblings are comfortable offering to help on a high profile mission.

That’s embarrassing in a way that’s shameful, but her village gave up on her so long ago that it almost doesn’t matter anyway.

 

 

On the day Sasuke turns fifteen, she meets with Itachi in a clearing of maple trees in the Land of Earth’s densest forest, and learns to summon.

She waits until after she’s successfully summoned a crow and after they shared a dessert of dorayaki before approaching the conversation. “I found out,” she says vaguely, before specifying, voice firm, “About the massacre and the Council, I mean.”

At that, what color is left in his face drains, leaving him sickly white. “I don’t know—” he starts, but stops when she explains where she found it and how and that no, she’s not so stupid as to bring evidence to the Hokage when _he_ was stupid enough to keep that contract legal. “You’ve already broken one of the main clauses in learning about it, Sasuke.”

“Fuck it,” she says, the rare swear slipping out in exhausted annoyance and recent exposure to Kankuro. “Konoha didn’t exactly keep up its end of the bargain. I can’t find anything about why anyone even thought you had to.”

In a clipped tone, her brother explains about long standing familial resentment and revolutionary ideas. “I’m older now,” he says when he’s done, sounding as exhausted as she does and older than twenty. “I didn’t realize back then that there were other ways to resolve the issue. He’s very persuasive.”

“I know,” she says, signing. It’s sunset, pale pink light slipping through the green leaves and saturating the air around them in a mix of confused colors. Bees buzz and squirrels chatter. The forest is alive, and uncaring that their lives were just flipped on their heads. “Why else would I be on an ANBU mission without a uniform?” To make it worse, she’s dressed closer to a Suna-nin than someone from Konoha, because she only had brought one outfit with her. “I’m sorry, but did you kill Shisui?”

“No,” he which, which is an unexpected relief even after all these years. Though she watched her family die and never saw her cousin’s body, most of her recent nightmares center around him. “That was a suicide. He’d lost a Sharingan and thought it would be...better if I developed the Mangekyo.”

This isn’t a conversation she expected to have calmly, but the tired acceptance of their past is better than the alternative railing against Itachi’s stubborn refusal to tell her the truth. “Well, then he’s as bad as the rest of us,” she says bluntly. “I think every Uchiha in existence has had a problem making choices for other people. Did you seriously have to use the Tsukuyomi? _Really?_ ”

Almost awkwardly, he says, “I didn’t know what it did. I thought it would dampen the memory.”

“Oh, even better.” Despite the sarcasm creeping into the edge of her voice, she means it. It _is_ better knowing he hadn’t intentionally tortured her. “Look, just—don’t be yourself for a moment, all right? Because as much as I wish I still had my family, I get that you were thirteen. There has to be something about making a _thirteen-year-old_ kill his family that’s illegal. And I don’t know about you, but I want my brother back.”

For a long moment, he says nothing, and it’s so silent between them that the natural sounds of the forest seem impossibly loud. Then he answers, “It’s not so simple, Sasuke. That wasn’t my only mission.”

“I might not be working with the Akatsuki, but I doubt you’re going to stop them attacking Konoha.”

He doesn’t seem to have an answer to that. “Why?” he says instead, fingers curled in loose fists in his pants. “Thirteen isn’t so young. You should be furious.”

Maybe there’s some truth in that, but she loved him the most before the massacre. She’d have killed herself killing him just because he told her to try if it hadn’t been for that day in the alley at the age of nine, when a teenage boy pressed her flat and ripped her open. “I'm making some pretty dumb decisions, and I'm fifteen,” she says. “I don’t know where you’re getting this idea that it isn’t young. I’ve wanted you back for a really long time. Way before I found out. It’s not like I just happened to look in the same area or something.”

Slowly, Itachi reaches over and slips an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against his side. “Don’t try anything,” he says, like her team. “There’s nothing you can do. You’ve put yourself at risk enough already.”

A bird chirps loudly, the sound more like a scream than a song. Sasuke shrugs and leans her weight into him as though they’re still seven and thirteen and waiting for Mom to call them for dinner. “Remember the time we went outside the walls,” she says, “and you refused to let me go touch that fox?”

He laughs lowly, in a single short note. “Our parents wouldn’t have been happy had it bitten you,” he says, and turns to cough into his elbow. “Shisui had the worst reaction to poison ivy during that trip.”

“His mother smothered his face in camomile. Bright pink for days.”

“I assume the pictures are still in house.”

After the massacre, she pulled all the pictures from the walls and removed them from dressers and shelves, stuffing them in closets or drawers she’d never touch. She, oddly, doesn’t look much like either of her parents—she’s too petite, with a slim figure and her facial features too sharp—and she wonders abruptly if she should find at least one picture before she forgets their smiles. Because of the Tsukuyomi, her only real memory of her parents is when they were dead.

“I walked through a thicket of poison ivy a few years ago,” she says, reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear. “Had no reaction at all. Half our family would hate me.”

In all the times they’ve met, they’ve never discussed their family, but they do now, with memories she thought she’d lost or barely recalls pouring out easier than summertime rain. They light a fire at nightfall to chase away nocturnal animals skulking in the underbrush, and at some point, she must fall asleep, because then she’s waking to the sunrise and the morning birds, alone with just a scribbled note explaining he needed to get back.

 

 

Sasuke’s fight against the Isobu is faster than the one against the Saiken jinchuriki, but more straining, and ends with it eyeless in the grass and she beside it, her chakra nearly gone.

There’s water in her lungs, and her ribs are broken and her abdomen littered with lacerations where its tail struck her. A piece of coral is embedded in her left lower arm near the elbow, and another in her outer thigh. Halting a creature that massive and powerful in its tracks was nearly impossible when it had one eye closed and constantly moved. If she makes it out of here alive, the only reason will be because the crow she sent Kakashi reaches him in time.

She turns on her side and coughs, pain ricocheting from her ribs and cuts and her lungs as the water bubbles up. Her head swims. This is it, she thinks. I’m going to die.

Two years ago, she told Naruto she’d like a solo mission or two, and she didn’t care if she died much, but that isn’t so true anymore. Even if she just found out one of the defining moments of her life was orchestrated by a third party, she still feels settled for the first time—she matters now to people in two different village, she’s away from her childhood home and living with someone who needed the walls evenly painted _or else_ , and she’s reconnected with her brother. Shimura-san be damned, but there’s even something validating about being part of ANBU. A part of her even likes him. She’s not ready to die on a mission she was given without the Godaime’s knowledge. Whatever excuse Shimura-san gives for why she was so close to Otogakure alone will be ridiculous, she’s sure.

Or, more likely, he’ll say Orochimaru kidnapped her. Maybe that will finally get Konoha to send a team to kill him.

She blinks slowly, staring through the long grass to the edge of the trees that line the field’s perimeter. Cheerful purple heather dots the landscape around her. The air’s pungently floral. Blood seeps into the ground around her. It won’t be long before she attracts flies, a thought that turns her stomach. Bees already sit in the heather, bending the stems. She’s too far away from Konoha for Kakashi to get here quickly; she should have sent the crow to Itachi, who can’t be that far away, if he and Kisame of Kiri reached their destination in the Land of Lightning.

As she loses consciousness, she feels a familiar spike of chakra from the treeline, and thinks she maybe should have just let the Isobu go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really didn't mean for her to become best friends with the Suna siblings. Really.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sasuke faces the consequences of killing the Isobu, and there's always a disaster in Suna.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parts of this chapter are very violent. Considerably more so than chapter one, so if that bothers you, skip the first two sections. There's also an extremely fast death in this.
> 
> So. This story has not turned out the way I intended it to at all. Like, at all.

The first thing Sasuke’s aware of is the smell, damp and organic and rotting like a undug grave. The second is blindfold cutting off her sight.

Her heart jumps, missing a beat. There’s rope around her wrists and ankles, and underneath the deep down earth smell is something metallic and stale. To her right, a man breathes, the sound shallow and wet. A hiss comes from the same direction, not like a snake but like steam releasing from a pipe, startling her.

“You’re awake,” Orochimaru says. “We feared you were dead. Healing your injuries only does so much with your chakra as depleted as it was.”

Though she listens for any indication that Kabuto is here with them, she hears none. The panic’s set in already as she assesses her own helplessness, from the ropes to the blindfold to whatever it is keeping her chakra at bay.

Without answering, she sits, ignoring the numbness in her arms from hours of lying on them. “A dead Uchiha’s eyes aren’t any worse than a living one’s,” she says, careful to keep her voice steady. “I guess you really do want my body if I’m alive.”

“Someone killed my third choice,” he says. Fabric whispers together as he moves closer. “I’ll admit you’re only my second.”

Despite her position and growing dizziness, she forces herself to remain calm, understanding that she really had guessed correctly the reality of his situation. She always knew Itachi was his first choice, but his clipped tone tight with anger tells her clearly why she’s the second. “Do you seriously think using my body like a second hand kimono is going to make you better?” she says. Power, both physically and politically, is his ambition, but he has a natural limitation that she, for all her weakness, lacks. “You’re too _ordinary_ to—”

She feels his hand before his fingers brush her forehead and tear away the blindfold around her eyes. In flickering light of the single candle resting on the bench in the corner, his aging face appears ancient.

“Itachi beat you,” she says before he can speak, staring back at his bloodshot, snake slit eyes. The words build so rapidly in her throat that she can’t breathe. “And you know I can too, or you wouldn’t have kidnapped me when I was already dying, because the Sharingan is stronger than you, which is why even trying this will kill you.”

“You overestimate your body, girl,” he says, hand on her face, clutching her jaw and stroking his thumb across her cheek. “With a little more persuasion, it will yield when the time comes.”

“Then try it.” She pulls away so his blunt nails scrape her skin and she knocks against the packed earth wall. His feet are bare, and he’s dressed in nothing but a simple white yukata. For the first time, she realizes she’s only dressed in a hospital gown and bandages. “See how long it is before Itachi finds you.”

Orochimaru smiles. “You’re more loyal than expected for a victim of torture,” he says. “I see it was a mistake to think you’d agree for revenge.”

“If you need my consent,” she says, ignoring him, “then you’re not going to get it.” That’s the implication, from words like _persuasion_ and _agree._ She’s the one kidnapped and bound, but he’s just as trapped as she is.

His finger’s back, sliding from the edge of her jaw down her neck. “You require the seal first,” he says as she shivers. “For that to stick without killing you, you have to need it, whether you understand that about yourself or not. Craving it is best, of course, but it also works if the recipient is so, well—broken, I suppose—that he or she needs it survive. But it would be a shame to leave a mark on such a delicately made exterior. Wouldn’t you agree, Sasuke?”

Then his wandering fingers are wrapped in her hospital gown, pulling her forward and pushing her flat on her back. Her knees jerk in an attempt to hit his ribs, but he forces them down.

“I don’t have long in this dying body,” he says as his weak, bandaged hand hikes her skirts and makes quick work what’s underneath. His pale skin’s thin in the candlelight. “Between sexual assault,” he continues casually, “and genjutsu you can’t guard against, it shouldn’t be long until you’re ready. Eyes open, girl.”

His thumb presses into the hollow of her throat until she’s gasping and forced to turn her head. Technical terms from her Academy rape seminar pierce through the shrieking panic building his head, as for a moment, she catches sight of all of him—an expanse of white torso loosing muscle definition around the abdomen, his pelvis jutting and thighs thin, his penis long and flushed.

He pushes himself inside her without preamble, supporting himself with one hand by her head. The other hand feels along her chest as the sound in her head quiets so the only noise in the world is their breathing. His is rough. Hers consists of pained hitches.

Each movement is smoother now, made easy from the blood between her legs.

“Don’t worry,” he says, voice strangled, hot against her ear. “I won’t finish. Can’t risk pregnancy in this body of mine.”

She turns her head, so close they could kiss. “I’m going to kill you,” she tells him, though the statement loses credibility from her tears. “You won’t come back.”

Instead of answering, he pulls away abruptly and ties his robe, but not before she sees her blood splattered across his skin. “Someone will come to clean you,” he says. “Either Kabuto or I will be by later to administer the genjutsu.”

Sasuke curls up, shuts her eyes, and keeps them closed long after he leaves.

 

 

Even at Sasuke’s lowest, she’s skilled enough in genjutsu to know when she’s trapped, and doesn’t believe Kabuto’s attempt to force her to associate Oto with safety and home.

“This is ridiculous,” he says, more to himself than to her. He and the girl who acts as her caretaker behave as though she isn’t here most days. “You shouldn’t have the chakra to block anything.”

Though her whole body hurts, she forces herself to smile in a way that would make Naruto proud. After the crow she sent Kakashi, they know to look for her, but not where. They’ll think she died, most likely. For now, she’s entirely alone here in this underground cell that stinks of mildew and organic rot, and only has a light when a visitor comes to call.

Voice hoarse, she says, “I’m the head of a clan at fifteen, Kabuto. I’ll always be better than you.”

Kabuto slaps her, and then heals her moments later. Since she arrived, she hasn’t had more than water, and the effects are setting in.

Sometime later, Orochimaru reappears, and leaves again with her blood seeping through his robes. It’s after he’s gone, and she’s left torn open and alone in the dirt, that she slows her breathing. Once she’s calm, she wiggles until she tucks her knees to her chin and, despite the blinding pain, forces her arms around her legs. She works quickly to untie her legs, thinking up a strategy as she does. Whoever’s coming next won’t be Orochimaru or Kabuto. The girl will be a reasonable opponent.

It’s a struggle, but soon her ankles are free. After, she tears at the ropes at her wrists with her teeth, though it cuts her lips under they bleed, but it’s worth it in the end. She hasn’t had the time to do this earlier; the girl entered immediately after Orochimaru the last few visits, and Sasuke’s sure the water’s drugged. But today the girl’s late, and Sasuke, as pained as she is, is also wide awake.

By the time the Oto-nin does enter, she’s crouched in the corner opposite the door, ignoring the throbbing in her legs and shoulders. The girl hesitates in the doorway, searching the room in a glance with supplies in hand, and doesn’t notice Sasuke until her own kunai’s pressed against her throat.

“Scream and you’re dead,” Sasuke says, nudging the door shut behind them. “Now. Tell me where my weapons are.”

The girl never hurt her, but she also never helped. Inactivity is just as bad as acting herself, to Sasuke, who hasn’t done much worse in her career than lie. But the girl believes her, whether out of naivety or fear, and says, “In Kabuto-san’s office. Last door on the left at the end of the hall.”

“Good. Take off your jacket.”

“What?”

“Just do it.”

With shaking hands, the Oto-nin shrugs it off, and Sasuke catches it before it hits the ground. It’s getting late. Last time, it didn’t take the girl much longer than this to clean away the blood.

Sasuke says, “Thanks for the clothes,” and slits her throat.

Before the girl can fall, Sasuke catches her, and drags her under the wooden bench by the left wall. Then she steals the weapons pouch, complete with matches inside. After so long disconnected from her chakra, she knows she has to wait a while before she can use any jutsu.

When she’s armed and cleaned, she slips away into the unguarded cellblock. Metal doors line the walls and the circle’s rounded, giving the stone corridor the appearance of a tunnel. Mold grows in the mortar between the blocks. A rat scurries by, its small paws clacking against the floor.

The office door is on the left, narrower than the cells and made of wood. Not far away, metal bars separate the area from the rest of the tunnel, guarded by two Oto-nin with their backs to her. Kabuto’s chakra signature moves unmasked inside the office, and she feels her own returning faintly like a child’s heartbeat. Before either guard notices, she throws a kunai into one’s back, into his heart from behind, embedding it so deep he dies in an instant. His partner whips around, shout of alarm already pressed against his lips, but then he has a senbon needle in his eye. He kneels over, slumping against the bars as dead as his friend.

After that, she breaks into Kabuto’s office without interruption.

In an instant, he’s on her, hand around her throat and forcing her back against the door swung shut behind her. “What?” he says when he sees who she is. “How did—”

She uses his momentary surprise to drive a kunai into his jugular, forcing him back so he tumbles. She lands with him, knee to his side, and swallows back her horror as he reach up to pull the kunai free. Naruto warned her about Kabuto’s medical jutsu years ago. Now, with her chakra still struggling to gain strength and her body failing, she has to outsmart an ever healing opponent.

Blindly, she reaches for the workstation table and grabs a glass container off a burner. The office is brightly lit with cement block walls holding only one air duct and wooden tables lining corner to corner, covered in tools and beakers filled with liquid. She brings the one in her hand hand down into his head, glass and thick, grey much sliding into his face. He screams, voice high enough to crack, as she jumps up and makes a run for the chest of stolen property in the back corner.

His hand snags her ankle, dragging her back. She twists, hand outheld, knocking her palm flat to his chest. Lightning bursts in a single beam of swirling blue, crackling the air. In the same moment, she activates the Sharingan, and paralyzes him with a focused glance to his uncovered, unguarded eyes.

When she pushes away, he’s still twitching from a bodily habit forcing him into an attempted healing jutsu that won’t come to fruition without his conscious addition of chakra. Her hand and the front of the Oto-nin’s jacket are saturated red. Each of her moments leaves evidence in a blood trail, but she puts the thought of that aside for now and searches for her things. She finds her woolen pack, but the map, food, and change of clothes inside are gone. Also missing are her water canteen and forehead protector, but she finds her bo and Bingo Book buried near the bottom.

Kabuto’s dead now, but she knows not to trust death, and burns him just to be certain—except she doesn’t know which beakers contain flammable liquid. To be safe, she pours all but the water across the corpse, and strikes a match. The body lights without encouragement, and she scrambles quickly onto the table below the air duct carrying the outside breeze before the smoke suffocates her.

 

 

Sasuke remember this, later—a scrambled fight just hours outside the smoking air duct against two Oto-nin that results in blurred vision and another bout of lost consciousness. Then there was an Iwa-nin leaning over her, hand on her face, speaking to someone else when he said, “Siblings’ friend from the exam. We should get her home.”

When she wakes next, she’s in Suna’s hospital where a bird’s resting on the curtain rod above the open window and a breeze brings inside midday heat.

Temari, the third time Sasuke wakes and manages to stay that way, explains, “They recognized you from the last chuunin exam and thought you were a Suna-nin. Thankfully. The area near Konoha must be swarming.”

She’s right, it turns out, and Konoha won’t send anyone on the route to Suna until the activity calms. Sasuke’s forced to stay in the hospital for a week at minimum, admitted for chakra exhaustion, _fourteen days_ starvation, damaged lungs, multiple lacerations and contusions, and injuries of sexual assault. There’s no hiding it this time. Now all of Suna knows _Uchiha Sasuke_ managed to get herself kidnapped and tortured, Konoha will soon, and she can never show her face in Iwa without risk of those two men recognizing her, if they haven’t already from their Bingo Books.

On the same day, Gaara thrusts a clipboard and pen onto her lap. “Sign it,” he says. “We’ve been following protocol as though you’re citizen. I’ll tear up the paper when you’re done if you like, but this will make it official before anyone has the right to complain.”

Too tired to argue, she agrees. She doesn’t realize at that time that, really, that gives the hospital permission to force her to see a psychologist.

The woman’s name is Noa. Her hair and eyes are dark, and skin tanned from sun exposure. Despite the heat, she wears a blazer over her dress like Sasuke will care about whether or not she looks professional. Exact features are hard to make out, because no medical-nin in Suna is skilled enough to fix Sasuke’s damaged eyesight.

“You’re a first for us,” Noa says after she’s settled and Sasuke’s curled as tight as she can against the pillows. “If you’re wondering why the Kazekage granted you citizenship.”

“You mean I’m the first foreign kidnapping victim?”

“Yes.” Noa doesn’t attempt to lighten the situation, which Sasuke can at least appreciate. “Look,” she says as crosses her legs and smooths her skirt, “I’m not going to pretend I don’t know who you are. You don’t need to be a shinobi or a Konoha-nin to know the Uchiha name. So I’m sure you know how this goes by now.”

Shaking her head, Sasuke says, “Konoha doesn’t work like that. Or at least didn’t used to anyway.”

After an awkward pause, Noa clears her throat. “Yes,” she says again. “Well. Sasuke, I understand that, especially for a kunoichi, discussing traumatic ordeals isn’t easy, but there’s no harm in it. Nothing you say will go past the two of us. You can’t pretend it didn’t happen.”

“I know,” Sasuke says, with more bite than she intends. “I tried with—with the massacre. It didn’t work.”

Noa’s expression grows pinched. “I don’t imagine it would,” she says. “I will be seeing you more than once, if you’d rather not tell me today.”

Though Sasuke doesn’t mean to grow annoyed, she feels irritation building already. “You already have an idea of what happened from the medical reports,” she says, digging her fingers into her knees. “One in five kunoichi are raped. I doubt there’s a lot I can say that you haven’t heard before.”

“You’d be surprised,” Noa says. “Most won’t even say the word ‘rape’ by the time they’re in your position.”

“Maybe I have better constitution than most.”

“Maybe.” Her gaze grows sharper. “How about we start with this: how did you end up there?”

Sasuke bites the inside of her cheek, debating, and then says, “You know Kazekage is a jinchuuriki?” In Suna, it’s not a secret, even to civilians. “Well, what’s inside of him is called a bijuu. Another one of those attacked me. Depleted my chakra to nothing. I imagine it wasn’t hard grabbing me when I already passed out. By the time I woke up, they’d completely cut off my chakra supply and tied me up.”

Though Sasuke knew she wasn’t good enough to be an ANBU or a jounin, and only snuck by on a technicality, this finally exposed that truth to everyone else. Noa, who doesn’t know enough as a civilian to agree with Sasuke’s assessment of herself, says, “You can’t blame yourself for that. I’m not a kunoichi, but I’ve treated enough. From what I’ve heard, even if you’re best at taijutsu, losing access to your chakra is as damaging as losing a limb.”

That might be true, but she’s supposed to be better than this. “Yeah,” she says, and leaves it at all.

There’s another moment of silence. “I meant what I said,” Noa says finally, “about telling me in your time, but I do need to know about the genjutsu before any more passes.”

“What?” Sasuke says, confused. “Gen—it’s nothing. It didn’t work.”

Cautiously, Noa says, “Do you have a history with powerful genjutsu? Not administering it yourself, but having it used on you.”

Oh, no, Sasuke thinks. _No._ “Yeah,” she says, swallowing back her sudden fear. “My brother—it was an accident. He did something else a few years later. Someone other than did something around the same time.”

“Well,” Noa says, again adjusting the way she sits. “Powerful genjutsu has a long lasting effect. Even just one can be permanently damaging. Your brain activity shows that the most recent didn’t work particularly well, but it wasn’t harmless either.”

“But it didn’t work at _all_. I would’ve felt the effects.”

“Even if you blocked the majority of it,” she says, “you were still defenseless, Sasuke. Some part of it was effective.”

Whatever that effective aspect was, it clearly wasn’t any sense of loyalty to Oto, so it has to be something with her home village. Sasuke takes a deep breathe, the sounding rattling and shaky, and says, “I’ve been away from Konoha since the second week in June.”

“Do you want to go home?”

Sasuke shrugs. Technically, she’s a citizen of Suna, too, now. “I don’t care,” she says, and finds she means it, because suddenly, the person she really wants is her mom. It’s been years since that thought crossed her mind, but she misses her parents’ hugs. She wonders if Itachi ever thinks the same thing; promotion to ANBU hadn’t stopped morning kisses and breakfast for four. “I killed Kabuto. I guess they’ll be happy for that.”

“If we’re happy to have you safe with us,” Noa says, not understanding that Sasuke lowered Konoha’s reputation, “then they’ll be ecstatic.”

Not long after that, Noa leaves. By the time Sasuke’s released from the hospital the psychologist’s care, the only person she’s spoken to about what happened is Temari, the confession punctured by messy tears into her friend’s shoulder. If she’s going to lose her dignity, she figures, it might as well be with someone she trusts.

 

 

When Deidara and Sasori of the Akatsuki kidnap Gaara, Sasuke’s rendered useless in the hospital for a final round of tests. The medical-nin has her unconscious, which the best way to measure how well she’s healing from genjutsu torture. The answer is not in the slightest, and so all that happens is she wakes to another disaster.

Later, Kankuro returns half alive, body filled to bursting with poison. Sasuke sits perched at the edge of his cot, watching Temari pace. Anxiety electrifies the room. Her fan lies like a broken butterfly’s wing at Sasuke’s feet, badly torn from Deidara’s bombs. Under the harsh hospital lightning, Kankuro already looks dead.

Temari pivots, stops, and punches the wall. Instinctively, Sasuke flinches. Grimacing, her friend says, “Sorry. I just—it isn’t _fair._ First Oto goes after you, a fucking _Uchiha_ , and now the Akatsuki’s gone after the Kazekage? People like us are supposed to deal with bullshit, but not _this_ kind of bullshit.”

For a moment, Sasuke’s quiet. “No,” she says eventually. “We’re exactly who this happens to. We’re the ones it’s worth going after.”

“I’m not accepting that,” Temari says, looking from Sasuke to her brother. “Not when we’re finally a family. I mean, you get that. You of all people have to get that.”

Though Temari doesn’t know about Itachi and the ANBU and all those lies, she’s heard Sasuke talk casually enough about her brother to understand. “Yeah,” she says, but doesn’t add that they’re never be a family again. Instead, she says, “You’re making decisions until Gaara’s back, right? That extraction team is never going to find him. Give me authorization to go.”

“No,” Temari says so quickly it’s like she expected the request. “You might be the most wanted kunoichi alive right now, Sasuke.”

Sasuke searches her friend’s face for any signs of pity, but there’s only self-loathing and worldly anger in her frown. “I’m your best chance, Temari,” Sasuke says as Kankuro’s fingers twitch against her wrist. “Look, I’m the only person who handle my brother. The three of you _personally_ taught me desert tracking. And I might not know exactly what they’re planning, but I can guess—”

“The Council would never agree on—”

“I can guess that they want to release the Shukaku. I can stop that from happening.”

Temari slumps against the wall, bracing her weight against the uneven stucco. Hair loose from its holders falls across her face, pale in the light. “The Council’s already planning a reelection,” she says quietly. “He’s taken. Kankuro’s dying. Your old team’s supposed to be coming anyway, but I sent a letter to Konoha requesting Sakura. I just hope they’re here soon.”

On cue, Kankuro breathes, the sound wheezing and painful in his chest. Even at top speed with no rest, the journey from Konoha to Suna is two days. Maybe they’re already on their way. Maybe Tsunade still won’t let anyone leave. If no one comes, then Kankuro’s death is as much Sasuke’s fault as Sasori’s. She frowns, expression matching Temari’s, and says, “Then I guess they can catch up to me.”

“You’re right,” Temari says, stepping away from the wall to resume her pacing. “You’re right, so I want to let you, but—” She grits her teeth and settles for a moment in front of the open window, its sheer white curtains billowing towards her in the breeze so she resembles painting in motion. “You don’t need to prove anything to anyone, if that’s what this is about.”

“I already killed Kabuto,” Sasuke says, irritated. Now that everyone knows, she can’t escape their questions and assumptions. “I’d hope that proves enough. I just want to help my friend, Temari.”

The pamphlet on rape recovery that Noa gave her would consider this “assisted suicide seeking behavior.” But that’s all conjecture, and Temari’s never read a psychologist’s helpful hand guides, so she says, “All right. You leave in the morning. I just need to find you a team first. Well, after the Council gives you official authorization.”

By nightfall, the Council gives Sasuke official authorization to lead a Suna extraction team. The contract doesn’t label the mission as “foreign lead,” as it would have just two weeks earlier. “You were here as often as most high classed shinobi,” Daisuke, one of the younger advisers told her when the meeting was adjourned. “Is it really such a surprise?”

Maybe it shouldn’t be such a surprise after all. Sasuke thinks about how there are other methods of preventing the Akatsuki from acquiring bijuu then murdering their jinchuuriki. She’s already lived a nightmare this month because a man wants something of hers. All she wants is to prevent Gaara from ever living a nightmare of his own.

 

 

In the morning, Team Seven of Konoha arrives and Sasuke _panics._

“Whoa,” Kakashi says as her heart beat jumps and chakra spikes and she tries to back away. “Come on, Sasuke, you’re better than this. Just breathe.”

He has his arms around her, gripped her back to him even as she struggles so she’s forced to feel him breathe. Objectively, she knows he and her two old teammates, who watch her with cringes hidden at the corners of their mouths, would never hurt her, but it’s as though that part of her brain is severed from the rest. The stronger part of her screams through every nerve in her body that staying with them a moment longer is a threat.

“Can’t you do something, sensei?” Naruto says as Kakashi tells her to breathe again, pulling her down so they’re both sitting on her bed, warm morning sunlight spilling across them in lazy beams through the open window. “Like reverse it with your—”

“That’ll break her head,” Sakura says, as though Sasuke isn’t here. “I might be able to do something temporary. Like a mental bandage. Tsunade-sama will have to fix it completely though.”

Then Kakashi apologizes and his grip tightens. Sakura’s there then, approaching at the end of the edge of the bed so Sasuke’s dimmed vision is filled with a blur of pink and green and tiny freckles. Even with Naruto telling her it’ll be all right and Kakashi reminding her that she’s a _Konoha-nin_ , her fight or flight instinct stalls altogether, freezing her completely. Words die in her throat. So does air.

Sighing, Sakura says, “I’m sorry, Sasuke,” and presses a glowing hand across Sasuke’s eyes.

 

 

Though whatever Sakura did leaves Sasuke foggy, it works well enough that she’s functional. Naruto hovers at her back when they meet for a short debriefing with Temari and the Council in Kankuro’s hospital room. Meanwhile, Sakura heals him and Kakashi watches Sasuke out of the corner of his good eye, confusion written in the frown just visible through the imprint in his mask, as she positions herself noticeably in front of him.

At least I can see again, she thinks dully, but doesn’t feel any better for it.

It doesn’t take long for Sakura to finish, stepping away from the hospital bed with her shoulders slouched as she peels off her gloves. “He’ll still take some time to heal,” she says, reaching up to undo the tie in her hair and shake it out, “but he’s stable.”

Despite the audience of Council members surrounding them, Temari looks almost like she could cry from relief. “Thank you,” she starts, but stops abruptly when the door bangs open and in walks a cluster of elders lead by Sasori of the Red Sand’s grandmother.

“So it’s true,” she says, voice rough with age as she walks forward, hands tucked behind her curving back. “The Konoha-nin have final come.” Her eyes skip over Naruto as she says, “The slug woman’s apprentice and the White Fang’s brat.”

“Hey,” Sakura says, reacting with all the strength of of her mentor’s temper. “That’s the _Hokage_ —”

“Chiyo-san,” Temari says before Sakura can go any further in her protest, shooting her a look in the same moment Sasuke does, both of them warning her to stop that _now._ “I hadn’t known you were coming.”

In answer, Chiyo-san talks of Gaara and her grandson, her speech long and gradually redundant. Sasuke’s Konoha team stares, none of them knowing how to handle the sheer oddness that is a Suna elder. Though Naruto looks about to lash out, he keeps back whatever he wants to say the moment she tugs at his shirt hem. Even after the month she’s had, she still has enough of her childhood left to know to respect her elders. That idea of respect is all that more important here than in Konoha, where tradition is valued less and the idea is flexible.

That’s a cultural aspect they don’t understand, or at least not beyond abstract concept. She’s lost her dignity here enough already. There’s no need to have Naruto embarrass her and make it worse.

When Chiyo-san’s finished her tirade against the Hokage, the Akatsuki, and Kakashi’s father, she turns to Sasuke, ignoring the rest of her team entirely. “I hear you’ve all been authorized, girl,” Chiyo-san says, looking Sasuke over in one short glance like she’s one of her puppets only half finished. Startled, she nods, though she hadn’t known her team was now supposed to go with her. “I’m coming with you.”

Sasuke watches over Chiyo-san’s hunched shoulders as Sakura’s mouth parts as though she means to say something, but closes when she thinks better of it. “I’m sorry, Chiyo-san,” Sasuke says, “but that isn’t my decision.”

At Sakura’s side, Temari straightens her shoulders, and around them, the Council watches on. “As of an hour ago,” she says, “this was already meant to be a joint mission. A Suna-nin and a half sounds with three and a half Konoha-nin is uneven, but will do for this once.”

No one argues, but confusion passes over Team Seven’s faces noticeably. Sasuke hadn’t thought of herself as a Suna-nin. Then their expressions even into blankness and, faces pale, Naruto and Sakura turn instinctively to Kakashi, Sasuke disappearing when this is hers. Damn the situation and all strings attached, but Gaara and Temari and Kankuro and everything from drunk civilians singing New Years songs in village squares to the way the burning afternoon sunlight turns the adobe roofs gold at half past two are _hers._

“It will be an honor to work with you,” Kakashi says, not understanding any of this.

Yesterday, she told Temari she didn’t need to prove anything, but there’s something hurtful about being dismissed by her own team. Stepping past Naruto and Kakashi, taking control before anyone can confirm or deny her place, she says, “Good. Kankuro’s healed now, so we have no reason to wait. We leave in a half hour.”

“Sasuke,” Naruto and Kakashi say at once, one in alarm and the other in warning. Sakura raises a brow. Kakashi continues, “There’s still activity across this area.”

“Oh no,” Chiyo-san says, focused once again wholly on Sasuke. “I have fight left in these old bones, but I know it’s not enough to lead. No, I won’t follow White Fang’s son—but the girl head of the Uchiha clan. That I can do.”

In Konoha, the only clan by now to get true respect is the Hyuga, but she feels it suddenly—attention pulled to her from all sides, staring at her not because she’s Orochimaru’s second choice or because she’s an Akatsuki member’s little sister, but because of her heritage. _People like us_ , Temari said. Kazekage’s sisters and the daughters of founding clans.

They’re the only ones worth going after these days.

“Good,” Sasuke says again. “We leave in half an hour.”

Chiyo-smiles with her yellowed teeth, already daring Sasuke to get this wrong.

 

 

Despite Temari’s offer, Sasuke turns down the Suna-nin forehead protector. Her Konoha team didn’t know to bring one. She might the leader but she looks village-less, later, when they join with Team Gai at the edge of the highland dune lines, chasing Deidara’s trail.

“The Godaime sent us to be your backup,” Gai says when they take a short rest in the shadows of the spindle-like desert trees, sipping at their water canteens and taking a rest from the exhausting summer sun. His team, meanwhile, tells Sasuke how they’re glad to see her, like they ever talked back in Konoha. “The roads around here are crawling.” To Kakashi, he adds, “What’re the orders?”

“Questions like that,” Kakashi says, not in monotone or apathy or disappointment, but with a surprising, barely detectable note of pride, “need to be directed to Sasuke for this mission.”

Tenten’s lips part; Gai and Lee’s eyebrows raise, movement identical; Neji’s mouth twitches. Annoyed, Sasuke says, “We’re heading northeast. They’re slowed down because they have to keep him unconscious, so even with a day’s head start, they aren’t that far in front of us. Every one of them is good enough to take out at least a minor village on his own, so no one’s going to do the honorable thing and sacrifice themselves until there’s no way around separating. I don’t doubt that’s going to inevitable at some point. This is our last break, so drink up.”

When she pitched her case to Temari, she had to justify herself, but now that she has the position, she doesn’t need to explain why she’s here, regardless of whether or not Team Gai understands. Ten minutes later, they’re back in the dunes, following a scorched trail left from Deidara’s bird dropping exploding clay. Even at their fastest, it takes half a day to cross the highlands, and it’s at the opposite edge that they encounter Itachi’s image.

For a moment, even she believes it’s him, standing there in silence under the juniper trees with his Sharingan already activated—but then she activates her own Sharingan, and sees that his outline is hazy, almost like someone transposed one picture over another. Around her, her teammates’ collective chakra spikes in alarm, like they weren’t expecting him. Only Chiyo’s and Kakashi’s remain steady, fluctuating in time with their heart rate. Sasuke thinks Kakashi already knows the difference, or at least suspects.

Itachi’s image doesn’t attack or speak, waiting for someone else to make the first move. Distantly, unhelpfully, Sasuke wonders what would have happened if Sakura hadn’t applied her mental bandage. “I know it’s not you,” Sasuke says, careful to keep herself relaxed for her team. “I can deal with any imitation of your eyes, so you might as well stop.”

In a voice that’s not a Itachi’s and lacks a Suna’s accent, the image with her brother’s face says, “It matters little. You’ve run out of time.”

“Then at least give us the respect of collecting the Kazekage’s corpse,” she says. “Where is he?”

Without answering, Itachi’s image falls away and the body of a Suna-nin collapses to the shaded sand, proving they haven’t run out of time after all.

“Who was that?” Naruto, who knows the sound of her brother’s voice, says, looking from the Suna-nin to Sasuke. Sakura kneels beside him, looking for signs of life, but quickly proclaims him dead.

Shrugging, Sasuke says, “Someone who’s not Itachi.”

There’s not much anyone can say to that, though Team Gai watches her a little more warily—whether because of how she handled her brother’s image, or because they aren’t as desensitized as her team to how casually she can his name—and don’t seem surprised she chooses them to deactivate four shielding seals barring them from entering a closed cave. If they had time, she’d be willing to test to see if Naruto’s clones were a workable option, but they were delayed leaving too long for that. “Any opponent that shows up will probably be like the one before,” she says before they separate. “Just keep your head. Most of the attacks will be made to seem stronger than they really are.”

The first sign that breaking the seals worked is Tenten’s scream. Sakura flinches at the sound, high and piercing, and then the rock blocking the cave’s entrance crumbles to dust.

Inside is Gaara, unconscious, surrounded by faded, pale imitations of the Akatsuki members with very real Sasori and Deidara acting as guards, the Shukaku half ripped from him in a line of struggling energy. The pull stops, the figures flicker, and Deidara and Sasori stand the moment the entrance opens. Without delay, Sasuke, who has her Sharingan already activated, does as she warned her team, and collapses like the shielding rock when her conscience leaves her body.

Gaara’s on the stark white ground outside the burst open cage when she enters—invades—the seal, curled on his side like a child with his hands over his ears to protect himself from the Shukaku’s scream when it’s not around them but _in_ them _._ Behind him is the cage, its bars broken and thinning under the pressure of the Shukaku’s claws digging into them as he tries to pull himself back. His tail’s the last part of him left with the rest seeping out in a flood, his body loosing its tangibility until it fills the small space, ripping through her like a mist. Shocked and pained, she gasps, a feeling like fire burning through her body when really, that’s still on a cave ground surrounded by her team and people who can _kill_ her.

For a moment, she can’t move, dizzy from the sheer agony of the Shukaku’s fading chakra flowing through her like she’s little more than an air current moving in the opposing direction. Then Gaara opens his eyes, which are flickering in the pattern of his bijuu as his own chakra slowly blinks out, and manages a weak smile.

She forces herself to concentrate, despite the noise, and draws the Shukaku back, tugging against the outside pull. “Oh, come on,” she says to her friend and the creature inside him keeping him alive. “I need help.”

There’s a feeling like her own form’s losing solidity, fading under the overpowering chakra around her, until she looks down and sees right through her hands. Across the narrow, too bright space, Gaara forces himself to his shaking feet with the wall as his support and shouts from the strain. With her help, the Shukaku gains the strength he needs to pull him back in, because even being stuck inside the body of a human boy is better than a clay jar totted around by men with ill-intentions. Apparently bijuu have logic. Hopefully the Kyuubi is just as reasonable, should the Akatsuki get their hands on Naruto.

“No,” she says, feeling a hand touch her physical shoulder, grounding her so she’s instinctively drawn back into the world. “You’re on your own.”

That’s all the warning she can give before suddenly she’s falling back into her own body, struggling to get air into her lungs and kicking out blindly, instinctively, only to have someone catch her foot. Panicked, she feels the electric charge building beneath her skin, before Sakura has her wrapped up tight, saying, “Deep breaths, Sasuke. You’re okay. You’re okay.”

She rubs her hand in small circles over Sasuke’s back between her shoulder blades, but her body’s still prickling from the Shukaku’s chakra, so every movement hurts. After staying inside the seal for so long, her vision’s blurred again even more severely than before, so everything before her is just a mix of colors more indistinct than a child’s watercolor painting of Konoha. “Where’s Gaara?” she says, pushing away and accepting Sakura’s help to stand. “Is he alive?”

“Well, the Shukaku’s back,” she says, taking Sasuke by the elbow and leading her into the sunlit outside. She doesn’t feel anyone’s chakra but the two of theirs, nor hear a single human noise. “So, yeah, presumably, but Deidara got him. Naruto and Kakashi went after him. Chiyo-san basically used me as a puppet to kill Sasori. I guess he hasn’t changed up his routine that much since he was a kid.”

“How long ago did they leave?” Sasuke asks, because she loses any real concept of time when she’s inside a seal. “Where’s Chiyo-san now?”

“She went after them while I woke you up,” Sakura says, moving her grip from Sasuke’s elbow to her hand so they can move faster. Knowing Kakashi, there must be a distinct trail for Sakura follow. “They left pretty much the second you dropped, which means you got the Shukaku back in from long distance. I know you didn’t want us to separate, but—”

“Oh, I just didn’t want Team Gai to do anything on their own,” Sasuke says, trying to understand how she influenced Gaara while he was _moving._ “I trust you guys to be smart about it.”

Sakura doesn’t try to argue in the other team’s defense. By now, she’s trained with the Godaime for two and a half years. Naruto’s a jinchuuriki who trained for the same amount of time with the sannin Jiraiya. Kakashi’s Kakashi. Though other Konoha-nin cells are _good_ , they aren’t on the same level. If it weren’t for Sasuke’s eyes, she wouldn’t be considered much better the rest.

That’s the thought that follows her over Suna’s longest plateau and onto the flat, rocky edge, where Kakashi, Naruto, and Chiyo-san gather in a ring around Gaara, whose dual chakra signatures flutter together, but so faintly he might be dying. Sasuke freezes there, ten footsteps away, and thinks, _Oh no, I’m too late_.

Then he wakes, jolting like she electrified him, and she rushes forward faster than her team can, narrowly avoiding Chiyo-san as she sinks in exhaustion to the ground. For the first time, as Sasuke wraps her arms around her friend just to feel his heart beat, she realizes how badly losing him would have killed her. Orochimaru tried to rip away her connection to Konoha, and even succeeded, to a certain degree. Maybe she’s not a Suna-nin, but in this moment, it’s safe to admit that he missed a part of her to destroy.

Around them, the sand shivers, and though Chiyo-san doesn’t move, the rest of Team Kakashi all steps back. “How the—” Sasuke hears Naruto say, voice so low the words are nearly just a thought.

Gaara braces himself against the scorched earth with one hand, but wraps his free arm around her waist. His forehead feels feverish against her neck. “Thank you,” he says, and, like Sasuke, breathes in the desert at dusk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thing I really did not intend - Sasuke as honorary Suna-nin.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fucking GoogleDocs decided to be a dick so this took longer to post than it did to write. Happy Thanksgiving to all American readers.

“Concentrate, Sasuke,” the Godaime of Konoha says as she flicks the syringe in her hand. “You know no one here will hurt you.”

Objectively, Sasuke knows this, just like she knew it when her Konoha team met her inside her Suna bedroom a week earlier. She does a little better this time, at least—she’s in a private hospital room, sitting on the side of an uncomfortable cot, clutching the edge so tightly that her hands are tight while she focuses on breathing. Next to her is Kakashi, who has her tucked into his side to keep her from running as much as he’s keeping her grounded. No, no one here will hurt here, because this is _Kakashi_ and the _Hokage_ , but it’s hard to believe that when someone flipped her instincts on their axis and she never felt terribly safe here in the first place.

When the Godaime asks for her arm, Sasuke releases the bed’s edge and holds it out, shaking. “Sorry,” she says, wanting to apologize for every part of herself, but only managing one word for now.

“You don’t need to apologize,” the Godaime says, too calmly, as Kakashi tells Sasuke it’s not her fault. When the Godaime takes her wrist to keep her still, she flinches. “I know what this seems like to you at the moment,” the Godaime continues as she pushes the needle into Sasuke’s vein, “but removing genjutsu the way I have to can take a while, I don’t want to block your chakra, and your lightning attacks can be unpredictable.”

“A sedative might be a good thing,” Kakashi says as she falls more heavily against his side, the drug’s effects fast acting. “Sasuke hasn’t really slept.”

Sighing, the Godaime says, “I wouldn’t have thought you had,” and sets the syringe down on the metal on tray with a soft _clatter._

 

 

It’s late in the year in the north when the sky is always nighttime dark but bright with a shimmering curtain of greens and blues, and cold winds rustle through frozen pine like a toneless song. Sasuke’s on her back in torn clothes, bare skin exposed to the falling snow, as an apple rolls across the white covered ground, coated in Konoha’s dust.

Long, thin fingers tap against her inner elbow and slid into a tear in her shirt. When she looks, its Orochimaru, blood spilling from his lips and cadaverous in the aurora’s light. Konoha’s not safe for you, he says. Blood stains his teeth. He says, Run.

Then, suddenly—the head of the Uchiha clan and his wife lie dead on the floor, slumped over each other with katana wounds in their backs. In the corner, Sasuke huddles alone, watching in paralyzed terror as the man in the swirling orange mask paces the room. He’s at the darkened entrance way, a sliver of moonlight illuminating a silver strip down the center from where the rice paper doors bounced ajar. Her cheek and shoulder bleed. Her world is tinted red, seen through eyes of the Sharingan activated for the first time.

But here Kakashi, pulling up, up, up until she’s a full head taller and thin as a birch sapling. The air smells like salt and the room falls away so her bare feet sink into wet sand. Sunshine lights his hair the color of the stars. He frowns, uncovered mouth twisting down.

Don’t listen, he says, gripping her arm. Sasuke. Don’t listen to the voice in your head. Wake up.

All at once, she’s seven and nine and twelve and just fifteen. There’s a room so white it’s blinding. There’s a cage and it’s broken and inside, there’s no one. It smells like apples half-baked for morning pastries and the grave she dug with her one-off teammates at thirteen because they died too young. In this bright white room that feels like a psychologist’s session in the making, there’s no one, but still she feels a gloved hand on hers and hears voice like Kakashi’s saying, Sasuke, it’s time to wake up.

She comes alive again at that, not with a struggle but with her heart still beating too fast, blinking slowly until her team comes into focus. Slowly, Kakashi reaches over and puts a hand in her sweat drenched hair, saying with a small smile, “There you are. It’s good to see your eyes.”

Konoha’s thick, late September humidity settles like tar in her lungs, and she can feel that she had a fever recently. Still, she manages a smile, weak as it might be, and believes she might be safe.

 

 

Though Sasuke hadn’t volunteered to lead Gaara’s rescue mission to prove anything, it proved to Konoha that she isn’t damaged beyond repair, and so she isn’t removed from active duty.

“You’re on _medical_ leave,” the Godaime says firmly when she tells Sasuke she has a few week’s break on the morning she leaves the hospital. She sits on the same side of the desk as Sasuke so they’re eye to eye without an obstruction between them, which is more comforting than it should be. “I removed the genjutsu and healed your injuries, but you need time. Sasuke, in the meanwhile—past that meanwhile—I want you to see someone. Professionally.”

“What?” she says, startled, because when she was seven and scared and just witnessed her family murdered, Konoha released her back to her lonely home without much more than a _sorry for your loss._ “I don’t need—”

The Godaime sighs, and so Sasuke quiets. “Two weeks,” the Godaime says, “of rape and genjutsu torture would be enough to warrant a visit to a psychologist, but it’s not just that. While you were incapacitated, your temporary guardianship was signed over to Kakashi, as your old sensei. He explained that he knows of at least three instances of extraordinarily traumatic genjutsu used on you. That has lasting effects.”

“I know,” Sasuke says, shifting her weight in the uncomfortable chair. She doesn’t like the idea of anyone discussing her. “The psychologist in Suna already told me.”

Leaning back in her chair, the Godaime says, “You saw a psychologist in Suna?”

Though the rest of Team Seven heard Temari call Sasuke “half a Suna-nin,” it must have sounded more like a joke than anything else. Embarrassed, Sasuke explains that Gaara had her sign a consent form for treatment. “Turns out that included a psychologist,” she says.

“That’s good,” the Godaime says, but there’s a hint of concern in her voice that implies it might not be good at all. No leader likes to be told one of their clan heads has dual citizenship with an allied village that was recently a rival village. “There’s also the matter of entering the Kazekage’s seal—it made you much harder to heal physically. That might not have been your body, but it’s like something scorched your chakra. You’re on medical leave for a few weeks, but you need to train. Think of it like physical therapy.”

By now, Sasuke’s been inside a seal more than once and fought a bijuu directly—she knew being around chakra that overpowering _hurt_ , but she hadn’t thought there were were any repercussions. “Oh,” she says, and swallows hard. “Anymore bad news?”

After a moment’s hesitation, the Godaime says, “I’m not taking you off active duty, but Shimura Danzo might. He wants to speak with you. Soon, preferably.”

After a failure like this, Sasuke wouldn’t blame him. She reluctantly accepts the appointment card for the ex-kunoichi, usually-assigned-to-ANBU psychologist, begins twice weekly sessions the following afternoon, and sees Shimura Danzo in his house for tea just two days later.

Surprisingly, he begins with, “I’m sorry, Sasuke.”

The statement throws her, both for the use of her given name and the apology itself. “For what, Shimura-san?” she says when she collects herself, because eight years ago he signed away her life with a contract too legally binding to break now, but falling captive to Orochimaru is no one’s fault but her own.

“I am responsible, at least in part,” he says. They’re in his sitting room, where sunlight falls through the wide open windows and a soft breeze bring with it the smell of promised rain. Someone recently burned incense. The firepit in the center of the room, converted to a low table during the warm months by a wooden sheet fitted across it, has a ceramic vase of hydrangeas in the middle. She looks at the sunlit, bright blue petals rather than his face when he continues, “I should have given you a partner.”

“Having kekkei genkai doesn’t automatically make me good,” she says bluntly, “but a mission assignment didn’t mean anything.”

“I won’t pretend a kekkei genkai does,” Shimura-san says. It doesn’t seem right that she fucked up so badly she managed to earned even the pity of the _leader of the ANBU._ “You aren’t the only shinobi in your age group with one, nor the only shinobi in your age group immensely skilled. But you’re still better.”

Sakura killed Sasori of the Red Sand and can healed nearly any injury. Naruto learned how to control the Kyuubi and, during the time Sasuke was in Oto, how to use wind. Maybe she doesn’t want them in the ANBU, but they deserve the position more than she does. “Right,” she says. “I’ll hand in my resignation when I’m on the roster again for failing my mission.”

“I won’t accept your resignation,” Shimura-san says, and sips his tea. She leaves hers untouched. “After the kidnapping the Kazekage, I think that death was the better option than capture. For Konoha’s best interest.” He smiles wanly, like those words have any meaning beyond vague justification for ill-intended orders.

If she’s still part of ANBU, and still on active duty in all areas, then there’s no reason for her to be here. She pushes away her tea and says, “Thank you. I think I should go before my roommate gets worried.”

Since she woke, her team’s treated her like they used to, like she’s some old oyster shell figurine a moment away from breaking. The medics in the hospital were worse. Even Shimura-san now treats her delicately as he walks her down to the front gate, as though she can’t make the trip alone, to wish her on her way. Before she leaves, though, he stops her and asks, “You’re fully capable of capturing one if need be. How did you know to kill them instead?”

“Well,” she says with a twitching shrug, “it wasn’t anything I meant to do. I just screwed up. It’s harder than it looks.”

He smiles, almost real but too cold for that. “Of course,” he says. “I’m sorry for ever believing otherwise. Goodnight, Uchiha-san.”

With a mumbled “goodnight, Shimura-san,” Sasuke walks alone down the dusty, deserted lane towards home.

 

 

For the most part, Sasuke sleeps. It’s a restless and piecemeal sleep that barely feels like sleep at all, but it’s better than wakefulness.

One morning, just past eight when she’s making coffee for her roommate, teammate—because he stayed over, as he does most nights since she was released from the hospital—and herself before a training session that will “be good for her,” Sakura even comments on it. “You’re sleep a lot,” she says, like that’s a bad thing when Sasuke thinks it just shows she’s better than her nightmares. “Are you still having trouble from Tsunade-sama’s treatment?”

“No,” Sasuke says, and sets down the mugs without another word on the subject.

Kaoru, her new psychologist, calls it “depression” and “post-traumatic stress.” She says one of Sasuke’s teachers in the Academy (Iruka, she assumes) wrote an appeal to the hospital to have her psychologically tested when she was eleven. She says Sasuke can talk about her experience in the own time, but asks specific questions and then asks about the massacre and the Tsukuyomi and if she was raped before. She asks more than once about how Sasuke’s sleeping.

 _Talking_ isn’t an activity shinobi seek out willingly and never has been. From the time they enter the Academy, they learn that showing emotion is a weakness, but since the War, Konoha’s forcibly been trying to break down the commonly enforced lessons. Even so, no one wants to be asked a thousand questions at once and be expected to answer. Kaoru’s nice enough in her own way, with a bland sort of personality to match her bland sort of face. Sometimes that’s the problem with Sasuke’s position as the second child of the Uchiha clan’s head family; she was taught traditions others weren’t.

“I’m done with it,” she says, irritated, a few days before her medical leave is up and she lies between her old teammates on the training field grass, waiting for Kakashi. A single cloud drifts by in the wide, pale blue sky, shaped like Kiri dart frog, but the grass is still damp from an early morning sun shower. “It happened. Whatever. I don’t need Kaoru-san and her cat clock to make me feel better.”

Sakura says, “That’s not point,” because she’s a medic now and she’s supposed to, but Naruto has the appropriate reaction and laughs instead.

“Cat clock?” he says. “Is it on the wall or the desk?”

“The wall,” Sasuke says, turning her head from the dart frog cloud to her friend. “It’s black with this white face and actual green eyes painted on.”

“That sounds hideous,” Sakura says, as Naruto asks if it judges Sasuke from afar.

Nodding, she says, “Clearly it thinks I have attitude problems.”

“Well, it isn’t wrong,” Sakura says, and nudges Sasuke’s knee with her own.

They’re all in identical training clothes: shorts and sleeveless shirts made of breathable fabric. It’s hot for an early October, but worse than the heat is the humidity, keeping the grass wet for hours and settling like weights over their skin. After so many visits to Suna, Sasuke doesn’t burn the way she did when she was younger, but she can feel one forming now across her chest and cheeks. Sakura has a new scar across her waist courtesy of Sasori, visible where her shirt’s ridden up and her pants sit low, and Naruto is, as ever, a blank slate of freckles with his only blemishes whisker marks.

As Sasuke lies there, watching Sakura’s lips tilt into a smile that creases near her pale green eye because Naruto claims they’re all going to be committed if that’s a diagnosis now, she feels a sudden disconnect. Sakura’s her _roommate_ , with lavender walls she was embarrassed to paint and all these aspirations she’s told Sasuke about late in the night when neither had a mission the next day and it was safe to play cards while eating take out on the floor in their pajamas without fear of morning lateness. Naruto may have gone a while, but he’s still clearly the boy who lead her by the hand to the medic’s office in the Academy so she could miss the rest of the day. Even _she_ knows, if she’s really going to be honest with herself, that she and Kakashi have always been closest out of all of them.

It’s not Suna, which she does miss with the same dull ache that she misses Team Seven when she’s there. Instead, it’s like she’s looking at a fragment of someone else’s life.

She sits up suddenly, breaking Naruto off mid-sentence as he asks them when they think Kakashi will show, her arms around her stomach and legs to her chest, forehead against her knees as she tries to ground herself in the present—the feeling of the long, damp grass against her feet and thighs, the songbirds in the nearby treetops, and the sound of her own very rough breathing. It doesn’t work well; she drifts until she has her eyes firmly shut and breathes shallower. Though her friends are talking, she doesn’t hear them, not _properly_ , but then she jumps as two gloved hands wrap around her upper arms, jerking her head up as her heart skips a beat.

In front of her’s Kakashi, kneeling to her level. “Breathe, Sasuke,” he says. “In and out. Training won’t be fun if the challenge in the group is winded. In, out. In, out. Okay. Okay. There you go.”

For a while, they all sit there in the grass of the training field four, waiting for her to get her bearings. “I’m sorry,” she says when she’s finally calmed enough for the humiliation to set in. “That—I’m okay.”

They tell her not to apologize. “I think you’re allowed a few panic attacks,” Sakura says, which only makes it worse.

This is her consolation, later: Kakashi, flat on his back with Sakura’s foot on his chest, one bell in Sasuke’s hand and the second in Naruto’s, as the three of them laugh at their old sensei’s disgrace.

 

 

Two days before Sasuke resumes missions, Itachi sends a crow asking to meet in the old compound, which is easy enough to break into from the outside. Sakura works the night shift Saturdays, so Sasuke goes undetected, and is unsurprised to find her brother at the dock stretching out over the lake rather than in of the buildings, despite the chill that set into the air during the last week. But she is surprised when, against all expectations, the first thing he does is wrap her into a hug.

When they were young, her brother was never _against_ physical contact, but he never actively seeked it out. Now, before she can react, he pulls away, but keeps a grip on her shoulders, looking her over from head to foot and back again. “You’re really one piece,” he says with a sigh, tension loosing in his shoulders. “I thought—well. Good.”

In the moonlight, he’s pale as a white beech tree, but doesn’t look sickly. His grip on her isn’t rough, but it doesn’t feel weak either. There’s that, at least. She takes a deep breath of the cool, sharp night air and says, “I would’ve thought you knew that. I did lead a mission against a good number of the Akatsuki.”

“I know,” he says, dropping his arms now that his inspection is through, “but that doesn’t meant letting you was a responsible decision on Suna’s part. I’m sorry, Sasuke. If I had—”

“There’s no point in talking hypotheticals,” she snaps, unprepared to let the thought of _if only Itachi killed him when he had the chance_ consciously enter her head. “It’s over. How are you here anyway? I would’ve thought they had you on close watch right now.”

With a tired shrug, he says, “I suspect they have expected me to do something like this. Everyone knows what Orochimaru is like. Kisame and I are on a mission, technically. He’s beginning it alone.” He looks around, out across the lake and then to the cluster of houses. “Is that a forsythia bush growing from Setsu’s room?”

Though Sasuke hasn’t lived here in a few years, she’s still immune to the state of the compound. She only upkept her own house, not seeing the point in the others and finding it too difficult to try. “I don’t know how it happened,” she says, following his gaze to the yellow flowering twigs blowing in the breeze, hanging over their cousin Setsu’s living room. “I started noticing the branches when I was...ten? I think I was ten. You haven’t noticed? You’ve been back here before.”

“What?” Itachi says, returning his attention to her. His red eyes catch the moonlight, reflecting flatly. To blend in, should anyone spot them, he’s dressed in an ordinary jounin uniform without a forehead protector and his long hair back in cap that shadows face, which is drastically different from her blue training shorts and the yellow sweater she stole from Temari to wear to bed. Though no one would ever mistake them for anything other than siblings, she and Itachi look less like each other than they have in years. Frowning, he continues, “I haven’t been closer to Konoha than Morimura since I left. A crow caught sight of you in the Land of Waves. That was the only time I checked in on you.”

Morimura is the nearest village outside the walls. “Then who broke into the _sealed_ room of the shrine when I twelve?”

Even at the time, she knew it wasn’t Itachi, but it’s been years since she’s thought of the incident and never had a suspect to begin with. There hasn’t been reason, not when she knows how to control the Mangekyo without help of any inscriptions on shrine walls, she’s living elsewhere, and spends more time outside Konoha than it.

“I have no idea,” he says. “The man I told you about—he can, but it would be pointless. Perhaps someone with an implant can, but Kakashi would just ask.”

“You still haven’t told me about the man,” she says. Whoever he is, he did contribute to this mess.

“He’s old now,” Itachi says. “Not terribly important these days. What did the burglar take?”

Embarrassed, she explains about the scrolls. “I didn’t have the Mangekyo yet,” she says, “and I wanted to know what the field journal meant. Speaking of, what’s a Rinnegan?”

There’s a look on his face for just a moment that she thinks might be fear, but it’s gone as quickly as it comes. “I don’t know,” he says, which is a transparent lie. A breeze sweeps by, the chill easily cutting through Temari’s thin sweater; Sasuke wraps her arms around herself. “I know this is unsettling,” he says with another frown, “but please don’t look into it further. Three years is a long time.”

“And I have enough to worry about?”

“Yes.”

Sighing, she says, “He told me I was surprisingly loyal, you know. Apparently I’m very quick to defend you.”

He smiles, small and tired like all his movements and expressions. “In a way,” he says, “the Akatsuki just gave me leave to check in on the kunoichi who ruined their plans. We aren’t as subtle as should be.”

“No,” she says with a short, low laugh that carries across the water in time with a barn owl’s hoot. “We’re not.”

The owl swoops out from a nearby tree, where the leaves are already changing the color of fire, a light brown and downy white against the black sky. As her gaze follows the bird, his returns to their cousin’s house and the flower brush branches drooping sadly over the windowsill. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “I never meant it to turn out like this.”

That’s clear enough, considering the contract outlined how her home village needed to keep her safe, but no number of safety of cautions could have protected her from a sannin’s obsession. She looks out across the lake, to the way the breeze ripples across the flat water.

“No,” she says again. “No, I bet you really didn’t.”

 

 

“I’m on _probation_?” she says a week later in the Godaime’s office, not caring for manners or village hierarchy when she receives the mission file with the rest of her team. Pale morning sunlight filters through the thin grey clouds that cover the sky, still just peaking over the Hokage’s monument. “But I haven’t done anything wrong.”

Sighing, the Godaime says, “Removing a genjutsu the way I did has consequences. It’s just precaution.”

Before Sasuke can answer, Kakashi pulls the file from her hand, where the first page neatly outlines the logistics of her probationary service. “Tsunade-sama,” he says carefully. “I’ve spent a lot of time with Sasuke over the past month and she doesn’t need this.”

“You can take me out of leadership roles and solo missions without probation,” she says, fingers curling so her nails bite into her palms. “You’ve done it before.”

In perfect reverse of Suna, Sakura’s cheeks flush pink at Sasuke’s tone and Naruto keeps shooting her distinctive looks, but she’s too angry to care, and the Godaime doesn’t seem surprised, because probation stays on a person’s record. “Look,”she says from her seat behind the desk, staring up at all of them like this isn’t how she meant to start her morning. “I’m not the one with final say on this. Your—” She glances to the others and sighs again. “Your psychologist argued against you returning to the field at all. I barely swung this much.”

Sasuke runs through the sessions in the head, but can’t think of anything terrible. “I haven’t said—” she starts.

“That’s the point,” the Godaime says, leaning back and folding her arms across her chest. “You apparently haven’t said much of anything.”

“No one ever says anything,” Kakashi says, which can only mean he’s been through this before.

“Well, this generation is supposed to be different.”

More tentatively than usual, Naruto takes Sasuke’s _private_ file out of Kakashi’s hand. “Why can’t you,” he says, and then gasps dramatically. “When did you go become an ANBU?”

There’s a long moment of silence before the Godaime lifts a brow and Sakura, uncharacteristically, says, “Oh, shit.”

“I was wondering when the three of you’d notice,” the Godaime says. “People are usually a little more shocked when they read a file saying their teammate’s an ANBU. How long have you known?”

Kakashi, recovering fastest, says, “I was one not too long ago. The behavior wasn’t hard to recognize.”

“It might have showed up on her medical file,” Sakura says, shifting her weight foot to foot. “You know. Last month. It was a paperwork error because it was gone the next day.”

“Wait,” Naruto says as the Godaime opens her mouth. “How long?”

The Godaime holds up her hand, stopping any questions or answers. “Sasuke,” she says when they’ve all quieted. “You weren’t on a mission. When did you tell them?”

Though Sasuke _had_ told them, she never informed Sakura that fighting the bijuu wasn’t the result of an accidental encounter, so there has to be some truth in that. Her friend looks to her out of the corner of her eye, so Sasuke shakes her head, deciding that she’s too irritated and angry to care much about consequences. “I didn’t tell them,” she says, keeping her expression blank, “and I was on a mission. Technically.”

“Technically,” the Godaime repeats, tone blunt, and so Sasuke shrugs. “Even ANBU missions go through me first.”

If she messes up too badly here, she thinks, it’s not as though she doesn’t have a permanent place in Suna now. She unzips her jacket and reaches inside the interior pocket for the slip of paper she keeps on her person whenever she can, still paranoid that somehow someone will find out and ransack her apartment looking for it. “I had to burn the rest,” she says as she hands it over, “but I thought it was weird, so I kept this.”

It takes the Godaime longer than it should to read over one slip of paper. “Everyone out,” she says after a moment, finally looking up, eyes settling on Sasuke. “Except you.” Whenever the others are gone, sending her worried looking from over their shoulders, she asks, “Why didn’t come to me with this _immediately?_ ”

“I thought it was weird, yeah, but he’s still my commander,” Sasuke says. At the time, she was thirteen and more scared of the world than angry with it, and “unsettling” wasn’t reason enough to disobey anyone above her. There’s not much for her to lose now that’s she only reenlisted on probation like she was some sort of missing-nin, her friends treat her like she’s breakable, and her dignity is ruined beyond repair. “People have been charged and executed for treason for less, Godaime-sama.”

The Godaime lays the paper flat on the desk, the faded ink turned grey in the light and the creases made obvious by the room’s deep shadows. “I never wanted you on solo missions,” she says. “I never wanted you anywhere _near_ —and that’s not to mention how ludicrous it is to even think about—what, making more jinchuuriki? Did he say why?”

Shaking her head, Sasuke says, “No, but he wasn’t happy when I killed them instead, so I’m guessing.”

With another sigh, the Godaime runs her hand down her face and for just a moment, looks her age. That’s almost as unsettling as Sasuke’s orders. “How did you know to kill them?” the Godaime asks, like that can’t be possibly be one of Sasuke’s many mistakes. “Don’t give me that look, Sasuke. Kaoru-san’s report claims you have issues recognizing your own self-worth, so—”

“I don’t—”

“I know this will sound unbelievable, but you’re very good at what you do,” the Godaime finishes firmly. “Both incidents with Kazekage prove that if you wanted to subdue them, you could have without worse consequences to your person than burning your chakra. You told me once subduing the Kazekage was dumb luck. Now take a seat and tell the truth. Maybe I’ll even reconsider your probation.”

As Sasuke sits, nervous under the scrutiny, she says, “I thought you couldn’t do anything about the probation.” Her fingers twist into the fabric of her pants to keep her hands' shaking from becoming too obvious.

“All kunoichi are liars, Sasuke,” the Godaime says, her blue eyes reflecting the light. “You’re better than most, but you’re not the only one who can be believable. Start.”

Sasuke hasn’t thought of herself as that—as liar. There’s a difference between a liar and someone who lies, but she’s too exhausted to argue that now. “I can’t,” she says, readjusting herself again, folding her arms. “A lot of people will get in trouble if I do.”

Tapping the paper, the Godaime says, “One of our most important Council members already is. It can’t worse than that. I’ve asked you a direct question, and I’ve done it before. Shinobi are liars, but they aren’t meant to lie to their Kage.”

After _everything_ that Sasuke’s managed to survive, to struggle her way out of from under these past few years, she’s not prepared to deal with her own Hokage distrusting her. “All right,” she says, unable to sit still, adjusting herself again so she’s leaning forward, elbows on her desk. “Let’s talk about my family, Godaime-sama. If you want to know the truth, then I’m going to be saying some pretty awful about a lot of important people. Are you willing to hear all that before you lock me up for treason?”

Warily, the Godaime says, “I suppose I have to.”

“Awesome,” Sasuke says, pushing herself back. “I guess I should start out with this—I found out from Uchiha Madara’s journal that the Mangekyo Sharingan can control bijuu, realized what I jinchuuriki is in the library, and then put two and two together with Naruto and who his parents were after probably forty-eight hours without sleep when I twelve because yeah, there might be something wrong with me but getting psychologically tortured at seven without anyone offering help and then raped at nine tends to leave a person with some issues.”

“You were—”

“Then there’s the matter of my brother,” she says, words coming out fast now without any sign of stopping. “Neither Itachi nor his teammate will touch me, which, okay, was off, but after he told me the Akatsuki were after the bijuu without directly telling me—”

“And you never thought to—”

“I thought I should probably listen to his advice to kill them over the orders of a mission unsanctioned by the Hokage. Call it trusting my instincts. By that point I knew something was wrong, or maybe I just wanted something to be wrong, so I checked the ANBU archives. Did you know looking into the case file outlining the murder of my entire family and Itachi’s subsequent role as spy inside the Akatsuki isn’t even classified? It’s called something else on the front, of course, so I only knew it because I know my brother’s handwriting, but technically looking into it wasn’t illegal as long as I didn’t bring it off the premises.”

The Godaime stares at her, open mouthed, but Sasuke doesn’t give either them a moment to breathe as she continues, “See, in a legally binding, uncoded contract that unfairly benefits the village, Shimura Danzo, about five other Council members, and the Sandaime signed off my thirteen-year-old brother, the clan heir, on killing everyone save his little sister, who was only allowed to live because he demanded it. I can’t say I enjoyed learning the people I work for wanted me dead and probably hoped that I would die even after, in that they left me to fend for myself in direct contradiction to my brother’s terms. I asked Itachi about it the next time we saw each other even though me knowing _is_ treason in and of itself and he explained that, basically, my family really didn’t like that Konoha’s political leaders blamed them and shoved them off to the side for the Kyuubi attack, which they _had nothing to do with._

“Oh,” she finishes, “and if saying this will let me go on missions more than twenty miles from the village, then fine—your old teammate raped me multiple times, but it’s okay, because he was careful not to get me pregnant, and I still killed his favorite sidekick in a five minute fight.”

For a very long while, the Godaime is quiet, tapping her pen against her opposite palm so the sound mimics Kaoru-san’s clock ticking. Eventually she lays it down neatly over the paper and says, “If your team asks, I took you off probation because you convinced me you can handle the work. They’re not going to speak of this again. Neither are you. Yet.”

“What?”

The Godaime opens her top drawers and pulls out a short, blank scroll before scribbling something inside. “Sign this,” she says.

 _Uchiha Sasuke is hereby released from probationary service in all departments,_ it reads. “I thought there was a official paperwork for this,” Sasuke says, “Godaime-sama.” She’s lost control of her temper and manners enough for one day.

With a slight nod, the Godaime says, “There is, but it’s three offices down the hall. I have a reputation in this tower of cutting corners for laziness. If anyone finds this, that’s all it is. Eventually, if anyone asks, we’re going to say there’s an additional message written in ink only the Sharingan can see giving you a mission from me and for me alone to investigate ANBU from the inside.”

Sasuke’s hand hovers over the line the Godaime drew beside her name, “Why?” she asks, suspicious now of any contract. “Shimura Danzo’s important to the village.”

“I don’t like liars, Sasuke,” the Godaime says, “unless they have a good reason to lie. What I dislike more are political officials who go behind my back. This shows that there’s something wrong.” She taps the paper again. “If the case file on the massacre didn’t say classified on it, then you did nothing illegal except learn about it at all. You said it contradicted your brother’s terms?”

“They—someone was supposed to look out for me,” Sasuke says, thinking that so long as no one learns that she _did_ take the file off base, then her brother, for the first time, might have the chance to live. “I wouldn’t care if it weren’t for that, but nothing happened.”

“Well, it sounds like a lot of your childhood could have been avoided if something had,” she says, and frowns. “I’ll find a reason to get Danzo out of the village. When he is, steal that case file. I think you’re telling the truth for the first time, but I won’t further implicate anyone without proof. Now sign it and go downstairs. Tell the panel to give you Team Ryuu's mission.”

Confused, Sasuke says, “Won’t I need to bring this with me as proof that I can get it?”

The Godaime laughs, the sound harsh. “You’re Uchiha Sasuke, girl,” she says. “They’re as scared of you as they are of me.”

Without another word, Sasuke takes her leave.

 

 

The problem with telling the truth is that people have questions. Before, Sasuke hadn’t lied so much as she evaded and excused, redirecting whoever was inquiring into her business, but she can’t do that now.

On Team Kakashi’s first night outside Konoha, halfway to their destination back to the Land of Waves as though somehow fate exists, Naruto has questions. “How long?” he asks so, dully, she explains in the barest details that she can. “ _T_ _hirteen?_ Is that even—I don’t know. Allowed? Is that even allowed?”

In the low burning firelight, she watches Kakashi cringe. Sakura runs a stick through ash pile forming near her feet. It’s a small, weak fire, which makes it easier to hide the evidence of in the morning and produces less smoke now, but means the nighttime animals aren’t so afraid to scuttle close. Beyond Kakashi, just past the ring of warm light in the underbrush, small eyes reflect the glow.

“It’s not common,” he says for her, “but it’s allowed. Her brother was younger when they conscripted him.”

“Yeah, but that was years ago,” Sakura says, glancing up from her stick drawn artwork. Her hair’s back for the night and like the rest of them, she’s already wrapped tight in a waterproof blanket. In the distance, every so often, they hear thunder that may or may not come their way. “People say all the time that we’re supposed to be different. That’s why it’s just so ridiculous. No offense. I mean, you’re really good so it’s not like you aren’t good enough, but _everyone_ knows what ANBU service does to a person.”

“I don’t,” Naruto says. “I don’t even really know what it is _._ ”

Realistically, Sasuke is meant to be discharged from service now that anyone other than a spouse knows, but she’s beginning to think there might be an unspoken role others are allowed. Shimura-san directly told her he wasn’t surprised that she knew about Itachi, who told them all the first day. Kai, who’s twenty-six, Ino’s third cousin, and named Badger for her mask, mentions her roommate so often that Sasuke thinks she must be in love, so _she_ probably knows. From how scandalized he was, she’s guessing Kakashi never told anyone, but he didn’t have to, considering his friends were dead and his old sensei was the Hokage. Maybe she could’ve mentioned it earlier and avoided lying about her missions altogether.

She curls herself into a tighter ball, tucked against a tall stone. “It’s supposed to be a secret,” she says. “That’s why it’s a secret agency. Shimura Danzo—you know, the Council member with his arm always in a sling?—leads it. He’s not good at pretending to not be suspicious. I’m Fox, but first he wanted to give me Weasel. Seriously.”

Kakashi’s eye widens. Naruto coughs. Confused, Sakura says, “Weasel? Fox I get. Now,” she adds with a short glare at their friend for keeping it from her for so long.

“Weasel was Itachi’s,” Kakashi says, attention on her rather than Sasuke. “Reports said he had his ANBU gear on the night of the massacre.”

“Oh, that’s messed up,” Naruto says, and twists his mouth. “So, uh, Fox wasn’t a coincidence? Oh. Right. Our Council sucks. What do people say about ANBU service?”

Looking everyone but Sasuke, Sakura says, “That it drives its members crazy.”

According to Kaoru-san, depression and post-traumatic stress that “mimic the symptoms of a mood disorder” are “manageable mental health issues,” but not any form of psychosis. Sasuke isn’t sure she even has that much, but it was nice to have verification that what people in Sakura’s hospital say about ANBU members doesn’t apply to her. “I’m fine,” Sasuke says, disliking the mass diagnosis of her coworkers when they chatter about friends, family, and love lives rather than voices in their head. “And before you ask, Naruto, yeah, I did kill the Saiken jinchuuriki and Isobu on Shimura-san’s orders. It was awful. It almost killed me. But at least it disrupted whatever plans the Akatsuki had.”

Last time they met, Itachi said the Akatsuki leader was angrier than he’d ever seen the man, but with two dead, he had to accept there was nothing he could do now. News of the Isobu traveled slowly, and he didn’t learn about it until after Gaara’s kidnapping.

Naruto shifts as the wind changes direction, sending a rush of heat their way. “Okay,” he says in tone that implies it isn’t okay at all. In the firelight, his whisker marks almost do look like they’re coming off his face. “I—figured. I guess. It’s just weird hearing about other ones dying, you know?”

Though Sasuke doesn’t know, she says she does because it’s late and she’s tired and only wanted to mention it now before someone accidentally mentioned it later. She doesn’t have many friends and wants to keep the ones she does.

 

 

Today’s mission is this: recent ANBU intel brought in a report that only Sasuke was allowed to read in full, altering the Hokage the Land of Water’s Ministry of Security hired Kiri-nin to usurp the Land of Waves’ flimsy government with the intention of annexing the still economically struggling country. The Hokage then altered the government, who immediately begged Konoha for aid through an expensive loan with _very_ high interest, so the Council passed it to Tori Ryuu’s team until the head of the Uchiha clan, in front of them, demanded it without official proof of the Godaime’s orders. Now it’s early morning a week following Team Kakashi’s Konoha departure, and Sasuke swipes a kunai away with her bo before swinging it up and around, knocking the end into the side of the lead Kiri-nin’s head.

When Naruto last saw Sasuke fight, she was still learning the art of being someone other than her brother’s little sister. A dozen of his clones surround them as walled protection, moving out of the way quick enough that they aren’t a hindrance, but despite their identical dual chakra signatures, she knows which one is him. His real eyes follow her as much as their follow his opponent, as bad as that is, even as a Rasengan collides the tallest Kiri-nin’s stomach. Whoever that woman is, she either has inhuman pain tolerance or she’s the medic because she recovers unreasonably quickly and moves in again for an attack.

She  _is_ the medic, Sasuke realizes, and another wind user, who comes at Naruto with an invisible scalpel made of air and chakra that he still doesn’t know how to sense. In the same moment she extends her arm, the leader of the Kiri-nin team begins the seal formation for that ever annoying mist jutsu, the two fighting against Kakashi join in a synchronized attack of water senbon needles formed from the shallow puddles at their feet, and Sakura punches the man in front of her hard enough to damage his heart. His ribs snap audibly, the sound carrying. With the Mangekyo Sharingan, Sasuke sees all this at once and reacts without thinking, extending lightning from two fingers to strike the medic in the back. The muddied clearing suddenly smells like burnt hair from her braid, overlapped by blood and the electric crackle of ozone. Stumbling back, the woman looks up instinctively, her pale blue hair in her face but eyes unobscured enough, and she’s useless to her teammates long before he knocks her unconscious with a blow to her head.

Before Sasuke’s opponent finishes the final seal, she strikes his right wrist with a sharp hit from the end of her bo, so the crunch of breaking bone resounding through the clearing for a second time. Quicker than expected, he produces two poisoned darts from a band around his left wrist. Then Kakashi’s kunai buries in his neck as her kick connects with his nose so he never even had the time to attack. Like that, the fight’s over, with four deceased and one hostage in a display of perfect teamwork.

At Kakashi’s feet, his female opponent lies dead from one of Sakura’s smaller shuriken, charred from an explosive tag that burned away the woman’s sand colored hair and blackened her skin. The man’s dead from a Raikiri wound like a purposeful reminder of Zabuza, his chest torn open and fingers still curled into the shape of the ram seal. At the other end of the clearing, Naruto stands beside his own living opponent with her back bleeding sluggishly into the damp grass, his face whiter than Sasuke’s. All his clones are gone, evaporated into nothing like they were never here to begin with.

It hadn’t occurred to her that at sixteen, Naruto had never killed before. Apparently Sakura hadn’t thought of it either, because she glances at Sasuke with a barely noticeable shrug and vague grimace, wiping blood from her shoulder where the man managed to cut her. Like that, the injury is gone. Kakashi steps forward, the movement like an inaudible sigh, and says, “We’ll take her back to Konoha for questioning. The Land of Water targeting another country like this isn’t good.”

If Sasuke hadn’t already incapacitated the medic, she would’ve incapacitated the leader, but it isn’t good to take two alive or that increases the chance of their escape. But Naruto hasn’t gone on a mission like this in—well, now that’s a thought. Rescuing Gaara wasn’t an ordinary mission, and his last mission before leaving at thirteen was a trap that lead to an Akatsuki attack. Before that, it was the chuunin exams, D-ranking missions, and a C-ranking mission gone wrong. Naruto’s a chuunin who can control a nature transformation, perform an A-ranking family jutsu, and work symbiotically with the Kyuubi, but he doesn’t understand the logistics of a traditional scout-and-burn mission.

“Why?” he says, proving that exactly, and staring wide-eyed at Sasuke specifically. “What was the point in _killing them?_ You can knock all of them out for a week like it’s nothing.”

Explaining how missions work is Kakashi’s territory, not hers. “It takes too much chakra,” she says, which is simpler and not untrue. “I can’t have Sakura healing me all the time.”

“She’s right,” Sakura says. “Healing the effects of the Mangekyo Sharingan isn’t like healing a normal injury. It’s way more draining.”

Kakashi says it’s time to go and hauls their hostage over his back, but Naruto looks from the youngest Kiri-nin’s burned skin to her partner’s torn open chest to the older man’s caved in rib cage to the leader’s bleeding neck. “I thought Tsunade-sama was teaching you how to heal,” he says first to Sakura and over her stuttering protests, says to Sasuke, “You’re—you guys don’t even fight like the same people.”

Though Naruto’s calmed down in personality and added new techniques to arsenal, he still fights in the same wild, excessive way he did at thirteen because his chakra reserves and short attention span won’t let him do much else. Sasuke, who lives with Sakura, has only noticed her friend’s gradual change on a subconscious level, but she supposes she _has_ grown more violent. As they walk away from their opponents, leaving them uncovered for the wintertime crows, Sakura shrugs again and says, “Medics have to fight. They have to stay alive. That means dodging, but a lot of time that also means killing the other person before they kill you. But that’s just normal, right?”

“Yes,” Kakashi says from the front, not bothering to disguise reality the way he did at times when they were genin. “That’s the logic of it.”

“I know that,” Naruto says, frowning, “but we were better than them and they had information.”

“But I’m the only one who can keep them out for long enough,” Sasuke says, and glances to Kakashi. “No offense. I get tired. The Mangekyo Sharingan has side effects like blindness and my eyes bleeding. It’s one of the reasons I mostly use taijutsu and lightning attacks. But I’ll her out better with my normal one when she wakes up.”

“Your eyes bleed,” Naruto says, more slowly now, “and you still use it?”

Sasuke shrugs. Neither Kakashi or Sakura agree it’s in Konoha’s best interest that she continues, but they also don’t disagree. Naruto continues, this time to Kakashi, “At least you’re basically the same, sensei.”

Behind his mask, Kakashi smiles, so the right side rides down his cheekbone. “I’m too old to learn anything,” he says a little too cheerfully, but over the past two years, Sasuke’s seen that his technique’s as adaptable as hers is. “Sakura’s sturdier with her stances,” he continues in his teacher’s analysis tone. “Having the Hokage as a personal instructor, I think, helped as a confidence boost I was sadly never able to inspire.”

With her cheeks flushed, Sakura says, “It’s not like that. I was just really immature. I didn’t really _get_ it until the exams.”

“No, it was my fault,” Kakashi says. “I did warn the Sandaime I would be a terrible sensei, but you were all brats, so who knows? It might’ve worked out better with a different team.”

Sasuke protests as vehemently as her old teammates that they were _wonderful_ , but the universe was conspiring against them, so clearly none of them were liable. By now, Naruto’s regained the color in his cheeks, incident forgotten even with the girl on Kakashi’s back.

Ignoring them, Kakashi says, “And for Sasuke? Well. Dual citizenship does a lot for a person. Wait until you see her tracking skills for more than couple of days at time.”

When Sasuke learned to track like a Suna-nin, she was just fourteen and lying on her back at a lakeside in southern Land of Earth where trees were laden heavy with apples. She, Temari, and Kankuro were procrastinating on an easy mission Gaara purposely exaggerated when he asked for help. They relaxed there at that lakeside in bathing suits and sunglasses, discussing the ethical correctness of using a very low level genjutsu on the annoying castella vendor in the nearby village to get free food. Somehow Kankuro, after they decided it _was_ all right since the man asked Temari how much she cost, got into his head that Sasuke needed to learn how to track the proper way because Konoha’s methods were outdated. The mission became a learning experience, but she hasn’t thought of it as anything special.

Uncomfortable now with Kakashi’s praise, she says, “It’s not that impressive. Just different. Anyway, I’m going to knock out the girl again anyway, if you still to make that detour.”

Before they left, Naruto asked if they could visit the family they helped before to see how they were doing and after a while, Kakashi reluctantly agreed. “Only for a few hours,” he says, presumably because the village is on the way. “Maybe they’ll even lend us the boat to speed up the trip.”

That doesn’t sound likely, but she’ll be tired the way she warned them, and doesn’t mind the thought.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas and Happy Channukah!
> 
> I changed around the tags. Enough people asked for a change in ships that I took NaruSasu down, but I don't know how it'll play out. Sorry to anyone who reading solely for that. I know already that I lost a couple of readers.

In early November, Shimura-san leaves for Kiri to discuss growing tension over the Land of Waves. Sasuke steals the case files one by one over the course of a week, delivering each to the Godaime under the guise of planning her involvement in the third test of the chuunin exams, and waits three days before she’s called to her leader’s _home._

It’s as jarring as the first time Sasuke entered Shimura-san’s house, seeing the Godaime in casual dress in her apartments’ living space, the folders spread out before her on the low glass table. She’s on the couch, a deep red plush one nicer than any Sasuke and Sakura could ever afford and more modern than any found in the Uchiha compound, and has an armchair the same color pulled directly across from her. There are drag marks in the carpet from where she moved it, drawing the room out of its cozy home decor and into a discussion space that happens to have comfortable furniture. Pictures Sasuke never cared to see again lie bare on the table, and she pointedly looks away from the one of her brother and her, ages ten and five where she’s on his back, the photo once kept her parents’ bedroom that she never realized was missing.

Apparently, she thinks, people have been entering her home without her permission long before she was twelve.

The Godaime flips shut the folder holding the photo when Sasuke sits, but doesn’t comment. “I’m guessing,” she says instead now that awkward pleasantries are over and done with and Sasuke’s turned down her offer for tea, “that you never finished reading the case files?”

“I didn’t want to get caught,” says Sasuke, who can’t explain that really, she only read as much as she fit down her shirt. “I got only managed to get the contract and the first few reports.”

“Well,” the Godaime says, sifting through the pages until she finds what she needs, “then I can’t ask you where the withdrawal plan is, because it’s not here.”

“Are there missing pages?”

Shaking her head, she says, “No. No one wrote it in, which means the contract isn’t as ‘legally binding’ as it looks. Konoha’s had a rule for a long time about undercover missions, stating you can’t enter without a plan for withdrawal. It’s just a safety measure. But I wouldn’t expect you to know that. There’s no point in knowing if you haven’t been on an undercover mission yourself.”

Briefly, Sasuke wonders if Kakashi’s ever been on an undercover mission, and if he might have noticed had she grabbed the whole contract. Putting that thought aside for now, she says, “But it’s not like his identity’s a secret or anything. Isn’t that more infiltration than undercover?”

“In a way, infiltration is just another word for undercover,” the Godaime says, turning the full contract around for Sasuke to see, small print and all. “The execution is different, but the rules are almost identical. I suppose—say you go undercover as a civilian to a civilian academy to get close some Land of Water politician’s son, which only you can because you’re the right age. That’s a risk. One of the teachers might have a jounin cousin, and got a look at this cousin’s Bingo Book once, and starts thinking this new girl with this Land of Fire accent looks a lot like that Konoha kunoichi with the red eyes. There has to be a plan in place to pull you discreetly so no one gets suspicious. Something like this involves the person’s real identity, but the principle’s the same.”

Sasuke’s never going to be sent on a mission like that, an undercover one where she’s the best option, for as long as Kaoru-san deems her unfit to venture out further than twenty miles from village walls, but that doesn’t mean she’s free of infiltration. It just hadn’t occurred to her to label _this_ until now. “Then what’s my withdrawal plan?” she says, because Shimura-san may invite her into his home and give her genuine sympathy, but that doesn’t mean he won’t kill her. “One way or another, this is going to blow up.”

“You’ll disappear for a while,” the Godaime says, expression souring. “When things calm down, you come back. Not to Suna. People expect Suna. That said, a badly done contract isn’t enough evidence to go against a person. There are seven signatures on this in total, and five the people are still alive. There might be no information. There might be a lot. Either way, it’s time you start using your position.”

At thirteen, she pushed paperwork in Sasuke’s hands and told her the ANBU was the best way to train her Mangekyo Sharingan without giving her the opportunity to agree or disagree. There’s no way she planned this, but it certainly feels like it. “People don’t talk to me,” she says warily and, after a moment, adds, “Not now anyway.”

It’s not they don’t trust her or like her, or at least so she thinks—but even her coworkers at the ANBU hideout won’t make eye contact with her these days. Last time she was there, Naoko told her straight how to request a partner on a solo mission if she wanted, as if anyone was ever going to send her on a solo mission again.

“Fine,” the Godaime says and shrugs. “Then you just have a better chance of listening. You can summon now, right? I know you sent a crow.”

“Yeah,” Sasuke says, keeping her short burst of panic out of her voice. She can admit to Kakashi and Sakura that she’s seen Itachi a number of times, but not the Godaime. “I learned how in Suna.” Her eyes narrow, and Sasuke imagines she thinks, _Of course._

“Do you think your brother will meet with you if you get in contact?” she asks, glancing at another picture clearly stolen from Sasuke’s house, one of her on their living room couch with Mom beside her and Dad beside him, all dressed in their festival best. Though she tries, she doesn’t remember where the photo was in the house. She’s so young that she doesn’t remember when it was taken.

For the most part, the photographs show the massacre’s aftermath. This and the one now covered by the folder’s flap feel like reminders that she’ll always be the best form of leverage.

She shrugs. “I won’t know until I try,” she says. “Why?”

Leaning into the couch’s thick back cushion, the Godaime says, “You’ll investigate Shimura-san either way, given your mission, but if I’m even going to touch the situation with your brother, I need to know he hasn’t switched sides. Seven years is a long exposure time. His intel’s good, but after losing their fight for the Kazekage, I doubt anything he can do will keep them away from Konoha if they really plan to attack, which makes his presence useless.”

That’s what Sasuke said, and she bites her tongue to stop herself from agreeing too quickly. Orochimaru was right. She always has been unreasonably loyal, but the Godaime doesn’t need to know that. “I’ll do what I can,” she says. “Under the condition that I get to meet with him alone. He’ll know if anyone else is there.”

The Godaime agrees, but only for the first meeting, should Sasuke see the need for more. When Sasuke dropped the final page of the mission on the Godaime’s desk, she expected anything but this.

 

 

It takes longer than it should to arrange a meeting with Itachi because sooner than anyone but Sasuke wanted, Shimura-san sends her on her first ANBU mission since her return.

“I don’t like this,” Hitomi said before they left, speaking low to Nori by the lockers as they fitted on their respective masks. Hitomi is Lion, who once suggested Shimura-san would give Sasuke Weasel, and Nori is Monkey, who defended her. Since then, they’ve become a regular squad. “Sasuke should’ve gotten more than a fucking month.”

“Clan kids always get less than they deserve,” Nori said, which is the reverse of the usual rhetoric surrounding Sasuke’s social status. “I swear, if he even if _tries_ —” His description of what he would do was so graphic she had to move away, unable to handle the sound of someone else’s anger.

That was three days ago. Now she stands under a mangrove tree, waist deep in gently rocking waves. Beneath her armor and around her ankles clogs with rubbery seaweed, the slippery sensation worsened by small, quick moving swimming against her skin. She’s disguised by an Iwa camouflage jutsu, hidden from all prying eyes. Through the thick branches and wide, flat leaves, she sees Nori crouched on a moss covered tree root, carefully avoiding the swap, and Hitomi sitting on a branch high above. On their way here, Sasuke taught them the Iwa technique, but it’s useless to the Sharingan, even though after activation, it requires no chakra to maintain. Still, the hunter-nin can’t sense them now.

Around noon, two appear, which means a scouting party, since Team Monkey knows already that this area has five in total. Their masks are bone colored in the bright, tropical Land of Waves sunlight, made of a similar material as the ANBU masks but all identical. Nori and Hitomi both look in her direction in silent reminders that she’s _backup_ before moving into their attacks.

It’s quiet and anticlimactic. Nori drives a wakizashi across the smaller one’s neck, the kill so swift the boy doesn’t have the opportunity to shout out to his partner in warning. Simultaneously, Hitomi drops from her branch, forming her seals for her water formed kunai as she does, and finishing just as she lands. That’s visible. Her opponent reacts, forming seals of his own.

Before he can finish, he’s on the ground, the wet spot leftover from the kunai already covered by blood.

With the fight finished, Sasuke pulls herself out of the mangrove patch, forcing apart the branches. “That was disgusting,” she says, disgruntled, as they all deactivate the jutsu and she can make quick work of ripping away the seaweed. There’s a leaf in her hair despite the time of year. She tugs it out and throws it down, the effect ruined when its weightless forces it to float to the ground instead.

“I didn’t know what direction they’d come from,” Nori says. His voice is even, so she can’t tell if it’s the truth. “If they came from the water—well, a lightning user can’t electrocute themselves, can they?”

Though that’s true enough, she also works well with earth. Hitomi should have been in the mangroves, strategically. Before August, Sasuke would have been on the ground, she thinks, but doesn’t voice it. Keeping silent is easier.

Hitomi sighs and brushes muddy moss off her knee. “I hate storm seasons,” she says. “If I get sent out after _one more monsoon_ —”

“This area gets rain all the time,” Sasuke says, frowning behind her mask because she doesn’t know if she was made into backup from recent events or as a result of her lightning techniques, and she doesn’t like uncertainty. “Even sunshowers make mud.”

“A fox’s wedding doesn’t make a beachside forest into a swamp,” Hitomi says, which is true enough. Sasuke can feel herself sinking, the mud acting as an adhesive pulling her down.

Sighing dramatically, Nori says, “The faster we kill the hunter-nin, the faster we get out of here. I’ll run all the way the Kiri if one of them gets away. We don’t want that.”

“We know,” Hitomi says, exasperation clear in her voice. “You’ve said it, like, a thousand times. Me and Fox get it.”

“They’re just scouting,” Sasuke says, glancing at the bodies. “They’ll each take a cardinal direction. Won’t it be faster if we split up?”

There’s a short silence before Nori shrugs. “Yeah,” he says, and bluntly adds, “But we’re not splitting up with you. You’re sticking with the buddy system, Fox.”

Only probationary acceptees are kept from attacking on their own. Suddenly, her heartbeat jumps and the bird calls above them grow louder. “I’ve been on missions,” she says. “I can handle myself.”

“We’re not discussing this right now,” Hitomi says in the same tone Sasuke’s mother used when she spent too long walking home from the Academy. “Monkey’s right.”

“Lion, take west,” Nori says before she can argue that now is the only time to discuss their treatment of her. “We’ll take north and east. You’re not backup this time, Fox, but don’t take the lead.”

“It’s not like I’m hurt,” she says, because she hasn’t received that order since she was thirteen, but they both ignore her.

The mission passes easily, of course. Sasuke defeated her first hunter-nin when she twelve and still struggling to use her ordinary Sharingan. Now, three years later, she kills the northbound scout with a carefully placed bo strike to the base of skull. It’s a talent to be able to catch a shinobi unawares, an Academy student learns. Not everyone has it, but it seems like those who do all join the ANBU.

For their final night in the Land of Waves, they rent a bench front inn room instead of camping, waiting out the thunderstorm that rolls overhead and taking turns showering off the mud. Locking doors is never good on a mission, just because of the likelihood of attack, but she does anyway. Somehow, it just feels safer that way.

When she exits, dressed in her spare leggings and shirt, Nori and Hitomi are playing cards they found in the night table drawer. “You’re terrible,” Hitomi says. Her long, dark curls are twisted in a braid down her back and she doesn’t look up as Sasuke drops her clothes on the chair. “How are you so bad at a kid’s game?”

It’s some sort of pairing game, where like cards match like cards that Sasuke knows of but never played herself. Frowning, mousey face pinched like a child’s, Nori says, “Because it’s ridiculous. I don’t see the point.”

“You’re only saying that because you’re losing,” she says and takes a seat on the bed next to Hitomi.

“There goes beginner's luck,” Hitomi says as she wins, and laughs.

Though Nori’s badness seemed genuine, his loss is also too perfectly time for Sasuke to believe it’s real. Now unoccupied, he looks up, his pale brown eyes focused entirely on her. “You’re what, fifteen?” he says. “I’ve been on active duty as long as you’ve been alive _._ You’re going to panic eventually and it’s going to be bad, but I’m not making that anymore likely to happen than I have to before it does, understand?”

After two months of forced psychiatric visits, she’s done talking about this. “Okay,” she says, too tired to fight it anymore and remind them that she hasn’t just been on missions, but lead them. Orochimaru knew how to dig inside her head and twist loyalties, but she’s better than that. Than him.

Silently, Hitomi gathers the cards together. Nori nods. “Good,” he says. “You’re probably going to be on more ANBU missions than ordinary ones until someone starts getting suspicious.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Even with her new mission for the Hokage and general distrust of Shimura-san, Sasuke does prefer missions like this.

“Because your face is behind a mask,” Hitomi says. “I’m not even tired.”

Nori and Sasuke agree that they aren’t either, so Hitomi drops the cards and teaches them another game.

 

 

Less than a week before the chuunin exam, when genin and their jounin sensei are pouring in from all villages, Itachi and Sasuke meet again on the compound dock. “The contract isn’t right,” she says quickly when she’s finished explaining and he’s clearly about to begin telling her all the reasons why this was a bad decision. “That’s the whole point. You can come home soon, if I verify that your loyalties haven’t changed.”

Brother or not, he’s still a Konoha-nin, not a missing-nin, as it happens—she can’t explain in full about her mission even if she wants. Itachi isn’t the only one in the family who follows rules. She might be more willing to break them, but not if they’re given directly from the Godaime.

He leans back against the end post, staring at her with her red eyes wide. Unlike last time, he looks sick, and winter’s come, snow falling in slow drifts from heavy grey clouds that cover the slivered moon. “No one is supposed to know,” he says, monotone, as though he’s repeated it to himself so many times it’s the only truth he knows.

“Well, there are issues with the contract,” she says, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Neither of them are wearing coats warm enough for the weather but then again, they never are. “So really, your side doesn’t hold up. They also never kept up their part of the agreement and the Godaime’s angry enough for that technicality to matter. I thought we already established that the Akatsuki will do whatever they want whether or not you’re there by this point.”

Frowning, he says, “We don’t know that.”

She sighs impatiently and taps her foot against the wood. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure we do,” she says. “And even if we did, I don’t care. You’ll die soon without proper medical attention, so what’s the point of you?”

Though that’s low of her to say, she doesn’t apologize for it, and he’s silent for a long while. Eventually, he says, “You know my loyalties haven’t changed, Sasuke.”

“ _I_ do,” she says, “but I couldn’t exactly tell the Hokage that we’ve been talking normally for like a year.”

“Most of Konoha won’t trust me, if it works.”

“Whatever. They trust me.”

Trust is tricky and fleeting but Sasuke worked hard to earn it, and though people look at her differently now, they still don’t doubt her. Here in the place she spent so long calling home, where a dead flowering bush hangs from her cousin’s window and the lake she learned the breathe fire across is frozen over, that’s still difficult to believe. When she was young, her family hadn’t trusted her to be anything more than average.

Now, years later, their coerced murderer looks at with his red eyes, his cheeks flushed from hereditary illness, and asks, “Why does this matter so much to you?”

She already explained more than once that all she wants is her brother, but he can’t seem to accept that. “Because you don’t deserve it,” she settles with now. “You don’t deserve any it.”

When he frowns, he looks almost like their father in the early stages of disappointment. “Neither do you,” he says, so she laughs, because they’re clan kids, who always get more and less than deserve.

 

 

On the first day of the chuunin exams’ second test, a blizzard hits Konoha with such ferocity that even the Forest of Death has a light dusting, the snow sneaking its way past the thick canopy. Kakashi’s in the central tower acting as a watching guard, but Sasuke is off duty, and spends the day with her team and Temari, who’s the only one of her siblings to come, at a small back table in Konoha’s best udon shop.

“It’s so cold,” she says, despite the heat wafting from the kitchen to their left and the space heater to their right. It’s past dark, the days shorter than ever, and the light above them only dully illuminates their small table. In the dim glow, her hair and Naruto’s are almost colorless. “I don’t know how you guys stand it.”

Naruto slurps his noodles through his cheap wooden chopsticks, and says, “Are you kidding? Winter’s the best. No humidity. No bugs. Well, except in the Forest of Death, but those defy nature.”

Though Sasuke has no proof to confirm or deny her belief, she thinks that something in the water there keeps them alive. “And no sunburn,” she says, but Temari rolls her eyes and says Sasuke doesn’t burn much anymore, so she should stop being dramatic.

“Your delicate white skin isn’t so delicate anymore?” Sakura says, swirling her pink straw around her lychee soda. “Shocking. What will people say?”

“That’s archaic,” Temari says, leaning back against her chair. “At this isn’t as bad as that mission with that water user and those festival ice sculptures last March.”

“Oh, he was creep,” Sasuke says, and Sakura and Naruto glance at each other in the way they’ve done all day when she and Temari mention Suna. “I hope he’s melting in the heat right now.”

Temari laughs. “I wouldn’t know,” she says. “But really. If he didn’t want to get caught, he shouldn’t have been such a show off. Demon in woods. _Honestly._ ”

As Sasuke goes to remind her friend that rural civilian towns in the frigid north don’t have much experience with shinobi, Naruto says, “What’re you talking about?”

A week ago, when Temari arrived, she asked Sasuke how she was doing, and she answered, “All right enough,” rather than “I’m fine.” It only took until nightfall, when the other girl was the shower, before Naruto turned to Sasuke and said, “It’s like you’re a different person.” Sakura hadn’t been so surprised.

Once Sasuke was healed, Gaara said he’d tear up the consent form, if she liked, but she forgot to tell him yes or no, and according to Temari, he hasn’t touched it. Sakura and Naruto don’t understand that Sasuke can be different because Suna doesn’t expect anything of her. There are government officials who like her better than they like each other. Even now, they can be concerned and not regale to a backup position.

She’s never been as skilled as people believed before September, but she learned how to control her anxiety years ago. In Suna, they never knew she had a problem to begin with, and that’s what’s important.

“We had a mission north of Takigakure,” she says now, swirling her straw around in her water. Temari sits silent beside her and Naruto and Sakura watch, their eyes feverishly bright in the dim, red lantern light. “I don’t know why, but Taki kept ignoring their requests for aid because these animal shaped ice sculptures kept attacking them—it was hilarious, actually, my second one like this—but there was this man there originally from the Land of Wind who decided to write to Suna about these mysteriously attacking ice demons, and there we went. We brought the guy into custody instead killing him.”

It was a fun mission, even though Temari and Kankuro spent their two weeks in the area complaining endlessly about the cold and the snow. Though Gaara would have sent a team regardless, he purposeless gave the mission a higher rating than it deserved so Sasuke was able to stay with them just a few weeks longer. He did that more often than he should have.

“Why do you get sent up north so much?” Sakura, who knows more about Sasuke’s missions than Naruto, asks.

Shrugging, Sasuke says, “Who knows? Maybe my archaically delicate skin is natural camouflage.”

Temari flicks her crumbled straw wrapper at her. “You're ridiculous,” she says, and shifts the subject away from Suna missions to the likelihood of a preliminary round this year.

By the end of next week, Sasuke and Temari will join a panel of designated officials from across the different villages to plan the format and security of the third test. During those same meetings, while the most important members of village are distracted, the Godaime’s going to find time to meet with Itachi alone. The thought of each is nerve racking, but Sasuke can’t decide which is worse.

 

 

Sasuke and Naruto go alone to her family home the day after she begins negotiation on the third test’s format to remove the photo albums she shoved away years ago with the intention of never looking at again.

“Are you okay with this?” he asks, because everyone’s always asking if she’s _okay_ , but there’s a note in his voice only thin veiled that might be fear. “I mean, you said you found a picture of her in the library. I can look there.”

It’s been years since they discussed looking at these photo albums for pictures of his mother, and Sasuke thinks he deserves more than one officially taken where she had to smile on cue. “I want to look,” she says. because she can talk about her family calmly now with Itachi. Even if she knew he was innocent when she was seven, she never could have done that then. “I think I—I don’t remember their faces that well. Not really.”

Cautiously, Naruto gives her shoulder a squeeze and then kneels on the dusty wooden floors, his yellow hair and green jacket a shock of brightness in her parents’ neutrally colored bedroom. She never touched this room, nor Itachi’s; Mom’s bathrobe is thrown over the desk chair, its blue color faded to pale grey from years’ exposure to sunlight from the open window, and the bed isn’t perfectly made. The wardrobe door was ajar before they opened it, but that was Sasuke’s fault, who hadn’t closed it fully when she shut away the albums. Dust floats in the area like some sort of phantom, golden in the cold grey, overcast winter daylight. Since Sasuke hasn’t paid the electrical bill, neither the light on ceiling nor the lamp on the end table turn on, but enough natural light comes through the living room windows that they can see the photographs anyway when they move.

Confronting the past is hard, but she’s made a habit of lately. Yesterday, when Naruto tentatively asked if her offer from two years ago still stood, she thought he didn’t deserve anything less than that.

They’re all dated, so they remove the two ranging from the Third Shinobi War to her seventh birthday. Her father never liked pictures, but her mother did. “Mom used to tell me about her friend Kushina during the war,” Sasuke says, lying the albums on the low table in the middle of the room, “so I guess they start around here and continue into the beginning of this one. Comment on baby photos and I will kill you.”

“I would never,” he says, hand of his heart in false offense before nervously glancing down. “Are you sure it’s the same person?”

“You’ll know when I mean in a minute,” she says and, after a moment of struggling with the sticky, laminated pages, pries open the album. “You look exactly like her.”

For the first few pages, the photographs are predominantly of her maternal grandparents and teenage mother, including a picture of her team with three shinobi Sasuke doesn’t recognize. They tug at her, even though the faces are too young for her to know, but she answers Naruto’s questions all the same. Looking at them hurts, but less than she expected. It isn’t just time, she thinks. Maybe there is some truth to the Tsukuyomi dampening her memory.

Then, just after the date of the start of the War, there’s a picture in the top right corner of the left page with two girls that look around Itachi’s age now. Mom’s on the left, smaller than her friend and leaning into her side, her long black hair in a braid swung over her shoulder and wearing her forehead protector like Sakura. Not just next to her but wrapped around her is Kushina, twisted so she can hug Mom, her bright red in a drooping pony tail and face so like Naruto’s that its uncanny. They’re both smiling broadly, sitting on the dock where Sasuke and Itachi meet with their backs to the water. In the corner of the photo is a blurred finger blocking the willow tree, like whoever took it was either drunk or not used to operating a camera.

Naruto’s hand overs over his mother’s face, shaking. “That’s her,” he says, like he hadn’t believed she’d be there. Then he smiles, his dimples and the shape of his mouth just like hers. “She looks like me.”

“I told you,” Sasuke says, more relieved than she expected that she made him happy. “Mom described her friend Kushina as having hair like a tomato. That’s why I knew.”

Laughing, the sound weak and watery, he says, “Yeah, I’m good with getting my dad’s hair. Do you think he’s in here too?”

“We won’t know until we look,” she says, and lets him flip the page.

Several pages later, he slams his hand down as though she’d ever think of moving past the photo of Kakashi appearing her family album. “So I guess this is my dad,” Naruto says, pointing to the blonde man kissing the side of Kushina’s head. “But that’s—I mean. That has to be Kakashi-sensei, right?”

Both of Sasuke’s parents are in the photo, Dad frowning and Mom wrapped around his arm, but the most important part of the picture are the three kids around Team Seven’s age now. The smallest is clearly Kakashi, with his hair bright silver, two normal eyes visible, and the black mask on his face. To his right is a girl with hair like tree bark and war paint on her cheeks, grinning like Kushina and Mom, and to the left is a Uchiha boy whose picture Sasuke’s never seen. He looks almost like Shisui, with his hair messy and not quite black, as skinny as her and eyes just as dark blue.

“He must be the one Kakashi got his Sharingan from,” she says, though Naruto’s attention has already drifted to a lower picture of all four of their parents. They all seem so relaxed that she has to wonder if an external source triggered the resentment that ultimately lead to the massacre, or if Konoha’s Council was so desperate for someone to blame after the Kyuubi attack that they chose the Namikaze’s friends.

“Jiraiya-sama told me about them, kind of,” Naruto says, touching the space between the photo of their parents and a family member she doesn’t know. “She had the Kyuubi first. Uh. Turns out you were right about it being a chakra thing. She was dying the second she lost him, you know? That’s why they did it to me. They didn’t have any other choice.”

On the next page is the first picture of Itachi, or at least the first one that she recognizes as him, because he’s a toddler in the room she and Naruto sit in now, holding onto four-year-old Shisui’s hand. Naruto’s probably right about his parents only having one option, She wonders how her own parents might have reacted had they lived long enough for her classes to become co-ed and she ever mentioned how badly the other students treated him.

“I bet we would’ve been teammates even if they were all still alive,” he says suddenly, flipping through the pages so her family becomes people she knows and she feels the first real stirs of nervous longing. “I mean, we’d pretty much be friends because of our parents, right? And if anyone could pull strings, it would definitely be the Hokage.”

“Maybe once we were chuunin,” she says as they start on the second album, where one of the first photos is of Kushina and the Yondaime in wedding garments, sitting at a table with a plate of strawberries in front them. “I almost graduated when I was nine. Do you want this?”

Naruto nods, biting his cheek so it caves it, and Sasuke takes her time removing the picture from the lamination. When she suggested that maybe her parents had photos of his mother, she hadn’t expected so many. “My friend Kushina” apparently meant “my best friend Kushina.” The back is dated to just a year before he was born. At the time, Itachi was about three, and must have been there. Maybe he even remembers.

Taking it delicately, like the photo will disintegrate at his touch, Naruto says, “Thanks. I really didn’t think—what do you mean, you were supposed to graduate early? How? Even I know you were a bad student.”

“When I was younger, I was top of the class,” she says. “Just ask Sakura. We talked the first time because she wanted to see my notes. I don’t know. I started slacking off. I wouldn’t have done that if my parents were around. Even when I was getting perfect scores they made sure I always knew I could better. It made sense. They wanted me as good as Itachi, and I just wasn’t.”

“No offense, but screw them,” he says, glancing away from his parents’ wedding picture. “And screw the Academy. I wouldn’t have been the worst if weren’t for those stupid tests.”

Despite her scores, Sasuke was never good at test taking either. That was always more Sakura’s skill. “Academy teachers are supposed to teach one way and that’s it,” she says. “If that’s not the way you learn, then it’s your fault. My cousin—this one here, Shisui—told me no six-year-old understands long division or chakra theory.”

“I still don’t get chakra theory.”

“No one does.”

They come across the first picture of her then, which means there won’t be any more photos of Kushina or the Yondaime. All infants look the same to her, including herself, but she knows the pink the blank she’s swaddled in. It’s still in her closet somewhere. Natsuki knit it, which means just out of view, Sasuke’s name is embroidered in red in the corner.

When she shuts the album, Naruto doesn’t ask, but wraps his arm around her. “Thanks,” he says again, looking at his parents’ photo. “I really appreciate it. And it’s kind of cool knowing we totally would’ve been friends even if things were different.”

“Yeah,” she says, following his gaze to his parents’ smiling faces and the chocolate drizzled strawberry display. “I guess it is.”

 

 

After the third test, where one Konoha genin advances, two Kumo, and one Suna, the Godaime calls Sasuke to her office to tell her she believes in Itachi’s loyalties, but she needs evidence before she can act, and don’t forget to enjoy tonight.

Enjoying a festival as an important figure, as it happens, is harder in Konoha than Suna. During the Godaime’s speech, Sasuke stands between Shimura-san and the Kiri diplomat on an outdoor stage, dressed in the same kimono she wore to the Midsummer Festival, and stays after the Hokage is done. Nakakami-san, one of the two civilians that escorted her to her first trip to Suna, finds there, and says, “You can join the crowd, Uchiha-san. I’m sure your friends want to see you.”

Despite his suggestion, he already holds a hot chocolate for her, which is blissfully warm in her cold, ungloved hands. Above them, the dusk sky still glows with leftover daylight, but it’s dark enough that the colorful lanterns strung across the streets are all alight. “They can wait,” she says with her best smile. He looks the same as he did two and a half years ago on her first trip to Suna, though he’s thinned around the waist. “I helped with the judging, so it only seems right that I stick around.”

“Yes, I heard,” he says, looking down at her over the rim of the glasses she only saw him wear when he needed to read last they talked. “That’s an honor. Setsu and I warned you it would happen one day.”

They also warned her that the political playing field is worse than the Forest of Death. Before she can answer, a man with greying red hair and the Kusa symbol sewn onto the left breast of his yukata comes up to her right. “Are you Uchiha Sasuke?” he says, and when she says yes, he continues, “I’m Saito Kenji, one of the jounin sent from Kusagakure. It’s an honor to meet you.” The name’s familiar, as well as his face—a low bounty in the Bingo Book, she remembers, for killing a Land of Hot Water’s political official’s team of bodyguards.  

As she says, “Thank you, Saito-san,” and they exchange their polite bows, a younger woman from Shimo appears beside, hovering back, and a few others approach at a distance, listening.

“I just wanted to thank you,” he says, both to Sasuke’s surprise and embarrassment. “We know you killed the Oto-nin Kabuto. They have a hideout in our country, but we haven’t been able to locate it. He was causing us...issues.”

Either he doesn’t know about the events surrounding Kabuto’s death, or he’s tactful enough not to mention it. Regardless of which one it is, her cheeks flush. “Thank you,” she says. “They’ve been a problem for all of us.”

“You’re the one who killed him?” the Shimo woman says, sipping her drink and looking over Sasuke from head to foot, the shadows from the lantern light turning her face hollow and thin. “Uchiha Sasuke. Your Bingo Book description claims your eyes are red. _That’s_ going to have to change.”

“Well,” she says, and smiles again. “That’s up to Summit. But yes, I did. If that’s all—”

“How did you do it?” asks another woman, who must not be a kunoichi, or she’d known Sasuke can’t answer that. She sips her hot chocolate to save herself from having to try.

A hand touches her back just above the waist so she has to force herself not to startle. “Uchiha-san is young,” Shimura says from behind her, “but she knows well enough not to give away _all_ our secrets, Ren-san.”

The woman smiles, the expression fake and layered with a carefully constructed apology. “Of course, Shimura-san,” she says as the Shimo woman, who’s the youngest next to Sasuke, rolls her eyes. “I’ve overstepped my boundaries. It’s an _honor_ meeting the head of the Uchiha clan.”

“Ren-san is a Council member in Tanigakure,” Shimura-san says, stepping around to stand at Sasuke’s side. Despite her history with him and her mission against him, she feels better having him here in defense of all these unfamiliar eyes. “She serves on the Bingo Book Summit every year. It’s not often she meets the people whose skills she judges.”

“Oh, tread a little lighter than that,” a third man says, the yellow threading of his left breast Kumo symbol turned almost brown by the grey winter light. His hair’s a coarse grey and eyes a flat black, so he gives the impressive of a stormcloud appropriate to his country. “You’re setting a bad example for manners for the youth of today.”

Beyond Saito-san, the Shimo-nin, and Nakakami-san, the Godaime looks over, only half her attention on the Konoha Councilman and Temari. Now that speeches are over, she has a thick coat on over her Hokage’s robes and the hat removed, but she still draws the attention of nearly everyone but the small cluster here to the right side of dais. People don’t talk to Sasuke, but they’d be content to talk around her. That’s what they agreed on.

Now, suddenly, she’s the center of attention.

“I’m Takashi Niku,” the woman from Shimo says over Shimura-san, who deflects with a statement that he didn’t mean any offense and Sasuke is polite _for her generation._ “You won’t have heard of me—I’m just standing in for my mother, and I’m not fancy enough to make into the Bingo Book. Did you really take out the Isobu on your own?”

Everyone quiets and stills, their gazes drawn to her. “That’s interesting,” Sasuke says, tone even and bland. “Where did you hear that?”

“Word travels pretty quickly about something like that,” Niku says. “Isn’t your signature lightning strikes without actual weapon marks to go with them? Because—” She glances to the man at her right. “—even lightning users from Kumo can’t do that.”

With the exception of the Kusa-nin, none of the outsiders seem to like Sasuke much, which means they would have mentioned the events if Oto, if they knew. Realizing that they likely don’t is a relief. “I defended myself when it attacked,” she says, because Suna knows, and Konoha knows, so lying is useless. “That’s all. Saito-san, did you really kill twelve A-ranking guards with just taijutsu?”

Clearly startled, Saito-san says that yes, he did, and freely admits that his specialty is with long distance weaponry. Nakakami-san and Shimura-san both watch her closely as Ren-san asks what Sasuke plans to do for the future of the clan, as though Sasuke’s thought that far, and Niku and the man from Kumo interrupt with information about the roles of clans in their villages. The hot chocolate grows cold in Sasuke’s hand. Across the stage, more people have joined the Godaime and Temari. The Kiri diplomat is talking alone to a Kiri-nin, ignoring the principle of the chuunin exams.

Sasuke wasn’t trained in politics, and most days can barely manage her team’s company. Regardless, she _is_ the head of the Uchiha clan, and she’s only fifteen. There’s time enough to learn how to be better than this.

 

 

On a warm afternoon in mid-March, when the sun is shining so bright it glints like a glare off an early morning rainshower’s leftover dew, Sasuke learns she’s now worth nearly twice what her brother is, and that Orochimaru has died of old age.

She hasn’t been awake long, dressed in her sleeping shorts and long-sleeved shirt that are both the same white as hospital garb, and still too exhausted to process more than the sad truth that she has no milk, so she’ll be drinking this hours old coffee black. Of course, Kakashi is the one to tell her, his mask tugged down around his neck and dressed in the civilian clothes that mark this afternoon as his day off. In the sunlight coming through the window, he looks skittish and young. These days, even months later, everyone is a little skittish around her.

After he’s done explaining that the man who haunts her dreams is _dead_ and she’s one of the most wanted kunoichi alive, she doesn’t know how to respond, so she says nothing. There’s a long moment of quiet before Kakashi says, “I think you’ve gotten as much out of there as you can,” and walks to her side, gently removing the coffee pot from her hand. “Do you need a minute?”

“No,” she says, and breathes in sharply before releasing it slowly. Outside, two squirrels chase each other up the tree beside the window, chattering cheerfully. “I need to go back to sleep.”

Kakashi sighs. “No, you don’t,” he says. His voice is rough from coughing, his allergies acting up from the early springtime weather.  “Take a seat and drink your coffee. It’s already noon.”

Yesterday morning she returned from an ANBU mission in Kiri, where she dug a grave for a politician Hitomi killed in his sleep. In the time since she returned from Suna, she’s only been on one normal jounin mission with Team Kakashi. Sleeping until noon isn’t unreasonable. Fighting behind a fox’s face is exhausting business. Even a psychologist can understand that.

Clearly Kakashi doesn’t agree. As she wraps her arms around herself, her skinny arms tucked under her still small chest currently unsupported so that she’s the closest to exposed that she has been around anyone save Sakura in months, he continues, “There’s no point when it’ll be the same when you wake up. I remember what it’s like. I won’t pretend it was the same situation, but my generation right after the war was the test run for the attitude towards yours. After Rin died, my psychologist threatened medication.”

Sasuke turns, looking up in surprise at her old sensei’s blank expression, because he so rarely speaks about himself. “What happened?” she asks, morbidly curious, so he explains that Rin, his best friend, was killed, and he was there. “Oh,” she says, and wonders if implants can form the Mangekyo. “Even my psychologist hasn’t threatened medication.”

“They don’t like it when you sleep too much,” he says, and rests his hand between her shoulder blades so that she has a brief flash of Orochimaru whispering that her body is his. “It leads to not sleeping on missions. Insomnia’s one of the leading causes of death. I can spend the day. At least until the Sakura comes home.”

Though she sleeps all right enough on missions, she’s too tired to argue and sips her coffee instead. It’s cold and sludge like. “I’m not upset,” she says.

“Sure.” He doesn’t disguise his disbelief. “Did you want to kill him yourself? Or does this involve the genjutsu?”

“Oh, I don’t care about killing him,” she says, though she promised she would. Maybe she even did, however indirectly, because Kabuto was no longer there to maintain his current body and she wasn’t accessible. “I’m just good with him being dead. And I’m not grieving or anything. I just. I don’t know.”

Again, he sighs, and lowers his hand. The squirrels return, settling on a branch to eat a couple of acorns for a noontime snack.. “That’s fine,” he says. “I never knew what to feel. Now take a seat and drink your coffee. Sort yourself out.”

That sounds right, so she takes a seat in the blue wooden chair beside the window and sips her coffee. After a moment, Kakashi joins her, and they sit in silence a while as she tries to understand the repercussions of her bounty, and the world without Orochimaru in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that's anticlimactic, but it does make sense.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I started this is April 2015. 2015. It really wasn't supposed to be more than like eight chapters. 
> 
> (also two people commented on Harry Potter crossovers, and the thought of this Sasuke in Hogwarts is both sad and hilarious)

Itachi’s redemption begins like this: Sasuke’s halfway to the Land of Waves, less than a day from Konoha and laughing about Badger’s lackluster lovelife with Hitomi and Nori, when suddenly her own crow appears on her shoulder and squawks out, “The Akatsuki is attacking in two weeks. He can’t reach the Godaime. Warn them.”

There’s a long moment of silence after Yaya disappears as they all focus on the recently occupied space above her shoulder, so the early April air that moments earlier felt so sweet and light is turned heavy. Then Nori straightens his posture, clears his throat loudly, as though feeling the change as well, and says, “Care to explain, Fox?”

At the sound of her ANBU title, Sasuke’s skin prickles. She wouldn’t need to explain anything if ten years earlier the Sandaime hadn’t volunteered Itachi for the same job she works now. “You heard him,” she says, shifting her weight under the cold gazes of her teammates’ expressionless masks. “I need to get back to Konoha.”

“That’s not what he meant,” Hitomi says, though her voice has gone up, so she’s not much more comfortable with this than Sasuke. “There’s only one reason why you should have Akatsuki intel, and he’s a _missing-nin._ Actually, why is he contacting you in the first place? You can’t just leave. That’s got to be a trick.”

If Itachi couldn’t contact the Godaime with a crow, then Sasuke can’t either, and missions like this, which are half-combative and half-diplomatic, will take two weeks at minimum. “Look, I can’t explain,” she says, knowing she’s easy enough not to trust these days. Though it’s been over six months, she still isn’t allowed out unmasked to anywhere but Suna. “You’ve just got to trust me. I need to go back.”

“You’re kidding,” Nori says, who’s been around so long he served with her brother. “You mean he’s on a mission?”

“I didn’t say that,” she says.

“No, but you wouldn’t be asking us to trust you if you didn’t know he was innocent,” he says. His hand tightens to his fist at his side. Despite all the woodland noise and the wind whistling like a shrill song through the branches, the forest seems quiet. “You’re messed up,” he continues without any attempt at tact, “but I doubt even you’d trust the guy who killed your family otherwise.”

Though that isn’t true, she’s not going to admit now what only Team Kakashi knows. “You’re not supposed to figure this out,” she says, conceding, too short on time to argue for long. “I know we’re in the middle of a mission, but you can handle this without me. He wouldn’t try to contact me if it weren’t serious.”

Hitomi looks down, scuffs her boot against a raised tree root, and looks up again, eyes catching the light between the slits in her mask. “This is insane,” she says, hands wandering to her hips. “So the Uchiha Massacre was a mission? Defecting was a _mission?_ And even _we_ don’t know about it? Is that why hunting parties were delayed until the morning after? How long have you known?”

Dizzy from the rapidfire question, Sasuke takes a deep breath, sorting her thoughts, and says, “I’ve known for a couple of years. No one even told me, but yeah, it was a mission. Shimura-san assigned it. Can I go now?”

Before she can leave of her own accord, Nori holds up his hand, back still tense. “You’re telling us,” he says calmly, “that Shimura-san ordered a kid to murder his _entire family?_ ”

As quickly as she can, Sasuke breaks all protocol and explains. “You’re not supposed to know any of it,” she says, annoyed, afraid suddenly that anyone might be listening. “We can get in a lot of a trouble. Couldn’t you have just left it?”

“I knew something was wrong with that,” Hitomi says, shaking her head so that Sasuke can imagine the horrified exasperation on her face. “Go. We can handle it. Right?”

Hitomi must have been his teammate, Sasuke thinks, which makes the comment about giving her Weasel somehow worse. Though they should be dragging her back to Konoha themselves to tell Shimura-san the truth and have her tried, Nori just says, “Be careful. Run.”

 

 

The secret that Itachi’s innocent leaks carefully to the jounin and ANBU only the Godaime and Sasuke trust so they can prepare for the attack.

“I know it’s hard to believe,” the Godaime says when they’re all gathered in the basement of the Hokage’s tower under the guise of preparing for a preemptive strike against Kiri before they can declare war for the Land of Waves. Naruto and Sakura are there, as the two lowest ranking; the rest are the sensei of the Konoha Twelve, Naoko dressed as an ordinary jounin, Ino’s parents and cousin, Shikamaru’s father, and Shizune. “Just accept it for now. Team Kakashi, you’re going to implement the new withdrawal plan before they can attack and realize we’re prepared.”

Konoha’s new withdrawal plan is to “kidnap” Itachi, which wouldn’t be realistic if executed by anyone less than his little sister and Hatake Kakashi. With a quick glance at her old sensei, whose exposed eye is hidden by shadow, Sasuke says, “He knows. They should’ve already sent him out by now.” To be near the village, Itachi had to convince the rest of the Akatsuki to allow him to scout any weaknesses in the border, but that still means Kisame will be with him.

“Good,” the Godaime says, shoulders in a rigid line and lips thin. “You’ll leave by nightfall. I want you back within twenty-four hours.”

The rest of the jounin watch them, eyes all glittering in the dull glare of the few swaying, uncovered, yellow ceiling lights like wild animals at the edge of a campfire’s protection. On the her right is Sakura, who bites her lip and whose gaze flicks around so she looks out of place. Out of virtue of Sasuke’s blood relation to Itachi, she has the honor of standing directly across the table from the Godaime with Kakashi on one side and Naruto, who keeps shuffling his feet, on the other. Though only half the people here know Sasuke’s part the ANBU, even those who don’t must have realized that access to their records is the only way she might have known. Maybe she’ll be discharged after this. Maybe her position will be the best kept, open secret in the village.

With the Akatsuki plotting an attack and war nearing by the day, Sasuke wouldn’t doubt the latter.

“Godaime-san,” Naoko says before the meeting breaks. “Hatake-san and Sa—Uchiha-san are necessary and high enough in rank, but is sending chuunin out against Hoshigaki Kisame really advisable?”

Both Naruto and Sakura go to argue, so Sasuke quickly says, “It’ll look more like a usual mission if I’m with my normal team.” She trusts Team Kakashi as unconditionally as she trusts her ANBU team, but it’s true that she’d feel safer without Naruto there when he’s the one the Akatsuki want.

Thankfully, Naoko doesn’t protest further, and neither does anyone else. Kurenai runs her fingers through her hair, brushing it away from the back of her neck. “What about the people who assigned the mission, Godaime-sama?” she says, but looks at Sasuke as she asks. “You’re making it sound like he was never supposed to come back.”

“We’re handling it,” the Godaime says, which means Sasuke is handling it, and smiles. “Everyone return to your posts. We won’t break the news to the rest of the village until Itachi is here. This is going to blow up quickly after that, so prepare yourselves for the fallout. Team Kakashi, I want you out of the village at sundown. Uchiha, a minute?”

Once everyone is gone, Sasuke stays just long enough to leave discreetly, and slips away towards Shimura-san’s house, where he’ll be this early on a Thursday morning. The sun’s just barely up, so it’s still a little chilly, and a thin line of smoke floats through the chimney stack as she arrives. Outside his sitting room window is a sakura tree in full bloom, raining cloudburst pink petals onto the grass with each light breeze. When she knocks, it’s a few moments before he answers, dressed haphazardly in his day clothes like he did so in a rush.

Before he can speak, she cuts in quickly, “We need to talk, Shimura-san. Privately. It can’t wait.”

His brow furrows, and he absentmindedly rubs the fingers on his bad hand with his good one like the old injury is bothering him. “Come in, Uchiha-san,” he says, stepping aside to let her pass. “Did something happen to your team?”

“They’re still on the mission,” she says as he shuts the door behind her and leads her into the sitting room. He has a maid, but a quick feel for any chakra signature proves she isn’t around. “It’s going according to plan. I’m back because the Akatsuki is attacking in two weeks.”

Mid-step, he freezes, losing composure just long enough for it to be visible. Then, regaining it, he motions for her to take a seat beside his smoldering fire pit and says, “And how did you come by this information?”

Though she thinks he likes her, or at the very least still pities her, she knows he’s dangerous. It’s a risk, then, when she says, “Because Itachi contacted me—the Godaime knows that I’m here, Shimura-san, and a good number of ANBU and jounin. Itachi’s coming back whether you want him to or not.”

Even the leader of ANBU can’t successfully murder a subordinate when the Hokage knows she’s with him, so after a long, tense moment, he’s forced to surrender. “You were never meant to find out,” he says. “That’s in the contract.”

“And a withdrawal plan isn’t,” she says, more bitingly than she intends. A gust of wind outside brushes the sakura tree’s branches against the window with a loud scrape _._ “He might not have noticed it wasn’t legal, but I did, so you’re going to listen me. Sit down.”

Again, he doesn’t react instantly, but then, reluctantly, he sinks into the seat opposite the one he offered to her. The fire pit coughs smoke sluggishly so it dries the air and drifts to the ceiling. Sasuke breathes in the burning oak wood and continues, “Obviously, the Godaime isn’t happy with you. I won’t blame my brother if he isn’t either. But I still think that with the situation with Kiri getting worse, Konoha needs you. Do something like instigate a family massacre again and I’ll see you executed anyway, but in the meanwhile, this is my deal, Shimura-san—betray the civilian Council members. They went behind your back, you found out afterward, and by that point it was safer to stay quiet for everyone.”

Shimura-san is a terrible person who saw bloodshed as the most easily accessible option to avoid a situation no one wanted to discuss, but on a certain level, what she said is true, and regardless, changing leadership through execution with war threatening to break is an inevitable disaster. Even when he sent her after the bijuu, he tried to keep her away from Orochimaru, an order made independently of the Godaime. He’s the one who assigned her consecutive ANBU missions more recently to be certain she was rarely out of Konoha unmasked. Though Sasuke doesn’t appreciate pity, she can appreciate precaution when she still wakes up hours before sunrise once she’s away from village walls and sleeps until noon on the days she’s in her apartment. If she’s honest with herself, ever since she returned, ANBU’s what’s keeping her sane.

Now its leader sits before her, anger written across his face and his posture so that even his bad hand is clenched. “Not many people,” he says, tone calmer than his body, “feel safe enough to threaten me. Even your brother didn’t go so far as that when I forced his hand.”

Sasuke keeps herself expressionless. “I’m not Itachi,” she says. “We wouldn’t be here right now if I were anything like him.”

In the end, Itachi is better than she is. He spent nine years in enemy territory _for the good of Konoha_ without complaint while she searched through classified records and assimilated into Suna. Shimura-san stares at her, eyes hard, because he knows what she knows—that she, alone, nearly a decade later, did what her clan was killed for, and choose her family above the village. If the situation were reversed, Itachi wouldn’t have gone looking through ANBU archives, even if he were suspicious. But Sasuke’s here instead, so now all Shimura-san will ever be is collateral damage in his own political intrigue because her sense of loyalty is subjective.

His clear and abrupt realization is satisfying, whether she likes him well enough or not.

“I’ll do it,” he says, looking her over from the scar on her cheek left over from Itachi’s shuriken the night of the massacre to the badly done, red thread stitches keeping her front pocket on her blue sweater to the dusty pair of sneakers she’s owned since her last year at the Academy, their laces frayed from age. “Your family’s legacy will be ruined. I hope you’re prepared.”

“It’s not going to be ruined,” she says. “There’s no paper trail. There never was. Any accusation was just a perceived threat invented by signees to manipulate an idealistic thirteen-year-old.” Reintegrating Itachi into Konoha society won’t be as simple as telling the residents that he’s trustworthy, and Sasuke’s position is already precarious given everyone knows she barely avoided probation less a year ago. Maybe lying to the village isn’t ethically correct, but it’s preferable to dispensing the truth as fuel for anyone looking to disagree.

“Leave,” Shimura-san says, tone clipped and back so tense now that his spine might splinter and snap. In the two and half years that she’s worked under him, she’s never seen him angry like this. “Report for training tomorrow.”

There’s nothing more that she can say, or that she wants to say, so she bows with all her long nurtured politeness and wishes him goodbye. Then, before she can turn to leave, she sees a small, slow smile slide across his face, and he says, “On second thought, not quite so fast, _Fox_.” Still angled away from him, she stops, because she’s in control when it comes to her brother now, but she’s already acknowledged he’s still her superior. Warily, she watches him loosen the tightness in his shoulders and lean back into couch, attempting to find footing in his own authority. “Two and a half years is a long time to survive in ANBU, especially for someone as high profile as you. I think you’re overdue for a promotion. There’s a war nearing. I need the only the best leading the squads.”

At fifteen, Sasuke is the youngest in the force. The second youngest, a boy named Sai two years her senior, was only recruited a month ago. She should have been promoted then, but not to captaincy. Leading ANBU teams requires more credentials than she’ll have for years with the number of restrictions she’s had. “Thank you, Shimura-san,” she says anyway, because she understands that giving her captaincy is giving her renown, and increases the chances she’ll die on a mission. Konoha ANBU captains are coveted targets in a way even Kiri hunter-nin can never hope to be. “I’ll report for training tomorrow.”

He lets her leave, gaze on her back until she’s out of sight as though daring her to turn around.

 

 

When Itachi returns to Konoha, it’s raining in such a strong downpour that Sasuke can barely see even with her Sharingan activated. The streets are deserted. It’s already midnight, past closing for all businesses but bars down Main Street, so only the white lanterns that dot every twenty-two feet along the side of the road light their way, forming halos in the dark.

She doesn’t realize how jittery she is until Naruto wraps his arm around her shoulders and forces her to stop shaking on contact. “It’s all good,” he says lowly. “Told you it’d work out.”

In front of them, Itachi walks with Kakashi to make it a little less noticeable to anyone who peeks out their window who he is until they have the right know. It seems like a useless precaution, what with the rain and his eyes normal and his hair cut. His neck’s as white as lanterns in the dark, grey night. To make the withdrawal believable, Kisame needs to deliver the news to the Akatsuki and there needs to be evidence of an attack, so they staged one. Since blood is blood, and a person can’t tell whose is whose, she, Itachi, and Kakashi all lost enough to fake a struggle. There weren’t many other ways to show a losing fight without badly damaging any of them without a certain level of creativity; he cut his hair, and she brought along a spare bo to break across the forest floor. His Akatsuki cloak lies in tatters, the fabric left in ribboned strips to blow over the roots and grass.

They both pretend she doesn’t know that he’s relieved Kisame walked away alive, or that she understands why.

At twenty past, they reach her apartment, where no one ever comes to visit but Kakashi and Naruto. Sakura fumbles with the keys, swears loudly over the rain, but after a moment gets them through. In the moment before she passes from deep, dark grey of the outside to the pitch black of the inside, her pink hair seems to glow in the dark.

Sasuke flicks on the light and kicks the door shut behind them as her roommate says, “Jackets off. We _just_ cleaned.”

There’s blood on Itachi’s sleeve, the jacket one that Kakashi brought specifically to lend to him. Walking into Konoha with the Akatsuki cloak was asking for a disaster, so they knew he was going to need a change of clothes even before the weather changed. To avoid him using the Sharingan, Sakura healed his eyes. It’s better if no one knows about him until tomorrow, when the Godaime releases the information that he’s innocent and back.

“You guys are neat freaks,” Naruto says, rolling his eyes, but following after Sakura to the kitchen at the promise of warm tea. “Was your sister always like this, or did Kakashi-sensei infect her?”

“Cleanliness isn’t a disease,” Kakashi says dryly, pulling down his mask, as Sasuke brings them both hand towels for their hair. Though Naruto might be comfortable walking around with her hair sopping wet like a stray alley cat, the rest of them aren’t.

Itachi, startled—either at being addressed directly for the first time in several almost silent hours or because he’s never seen Kakashi’s face bare before—answers, “Our mother had a chore chart. Sasuke always did her promptly.”

“A chore chart?” Sakura says, scrunching her nose in distaste and amusement, so Itachi confirms that it yes, it was on the wall, and color coded.

Vaguely, Sasuke remembers a pie chart stuck with pins onto the cork board in kitchen that also held various family recipes with measurements like “a lot of flour” and “3 handfuls shredded cabbage.” When the search teams went out after the massacre, they combed through the house first, the Sandaime said, to see if they could find evidence of where her brother had gone all while Shimura-san directed them the opposite way. The cork board was still on the table when she finally returned home two weeks later. Unable to look at it, she packed it away _somewhere_ like she did with every other personal item in the house.

She hasn’t thought about it in years. “It wasn’t so bad,” she says, a little too late. Though her team notices, she doesn’t know if Itachi did. They talk, but it’s been years since they spent an extended amount of time together. No one’s discussed yet what they’re supposed to do now.

“I need to tell Tsunade-sama that we’re back,” Sakura says once the water’s on to boil, throwing her forehead protector onto the table with a loud clatter. Her jacket and shoes are off, but her pants drip a steady puddle onto the tile floor. “Have tea. Naruto, help Sasuke make up the futon. I don’t need Kakashi-sensei sneezing everywhere again. We won’t be seeing Tsunade-sama until tomorrow morning, so, Itachi, feel free to crash. Where’s my raincoat, Sasuke?”

“I think I still have it,” Sasuke says. It’s impersonal and green, which fits ANBU springtime requirements for this part of the world, so she borrowed it for the mission to Kiri she didn’t complete. “Naruto knows where the bedding is,” she adds to Itachi rather than tell Sakura where her bag is, “if you want to set up now.”

Sakura, now by the door putting back on her shoes, rolls her eyes without shame, and Kakashi gives a short snort of laughter. “Promptly,” he repeats skeptically as Itachi sighs and Naruto, exasperated, says they can wait two minutes.

A few minutes later, Sasuke emerges from her room, the jacket in hand and fully changed into a dry pair of pajamas, to find the futon flat and sheets sloppily put on. Itachi’s blinks are slow, exhausted from blood loss Sakura can’t repair and the painful experience of having his eyes healed. For the first time in years, he's regulation healthy. Clearly Naruto did the work on the bed himself. That would be obvious even if she hadn’t heard Sakura tell him that Itachi is the guest, so of course he isn’t helping, and if Naruto tries to insist he counts as one too because he doesn’t pay rent, then she’ll have to point out he stays over enough to be considered a freeloader.

“I’ll try to be quiet getting back in,” she says, slipping the jacket on and pulling up the hood to hide her distinctive hair. “Actually, leave your window unlocked. It’s not like Naruto won’t steal my bed.”

Though Sasuke doesn’t like leaving windows or doors unlocked these days, she still agrees. “Be careful,” she says, and lets Sakura hug her goodbye before she leaves.

“Someone should keep watch,” Kakashi says, already in the kitchen preparing a pot of midnight coffee, “just in case.”

“I’ll take watch whenever Sakura gets back,” Sasuke says, because Shimura-san gave his word, but that doesn’t mean much. If she has to keep an entrance to the apartment open, she feels safer knowing someone else is awake. “Itachi, there’re clothes on my bed if you want to change out of those. I guessed your size.”

“You didn’t have to,” he starts, but stops when she glares, too tired for humility that won’t put money back into her bank account. “Thank you, Sasuke. I’ll only be a minute.”

Naruto waits until he’s gone before turning to her, eyes wide, and saying, “I’m supposed to deal with _two of you?_ ”

“We’re not that alike,” she says, rubbing her eye. Rain beats against the window, droplets breaking apart at impact against the glass so the trees outside look like a portrait on a rice paper screen. “We just look that way.”

“I guess,” he says, looking from her to her bedroom door. “Your brother says even less than you do.”

“Hey, I talk.”

From the kitchen, Kakashi watches both of them, slowly sipping black coffee with an expression that seems to say, _You’re more different than that._

In order for the plan to work, the four of them needed to know about the deal she made with Shimura-san. Itachi was more worried for her safety in becoming captain than what it meant having the man walk free of blame, but Kakashi understood the situation without much explanation. “Shimura Danzo isn’t the type of person to accept this happening,” he said when Naruto and Sakura were preparing a trap for Kisame and they had a moment alone. “I don’t know what you said, but you definitely did more than promise you’d submit a request for promotion.”

“It wasn’t that,” she said, reluctant to lie. This was before the rain. When she explained the situation to her team, she told them Shimura-san would back their story if in return, she requested a promotion, which was the only way he could override the psychologist’s citation on her records and grant her captaincy. “It’s fine. He won’t do anything. There are consequences if he does.”

Kakashi looked at her then, in that judgmental, anxiously protective way of his, where he only glanced down out of the corner of his eye. “Sometimes I forget,” he said, words blunt in the dark, “that you aren’t like the rest of us.”

After that, they were silent until the rest of their team returned. Hours later, the comment still stings, and she tries not to imagine what he’s thinking, looking at her in her cheap apartment paid with from her own earnings rather than a trust fund, dressed in sales rack pajamas. Itachi emerges in pajamas even more inexpensive than that, bought for five ryo at the secondhand store down the street. It’s all girls of fifteen can afford, even if they are the heads of important clans.

Orochimaru stripped her of any sense of dignity or self-respect, but in the end, she’s still a person who can make consequences happen.

Itachi kisses the side of her head, unusually affectionate in front of others, his nose pressing into her rain slicked hair. “Get some sleep,” he says quietly, like she’s seven and still has a bedtime she needs to follow as strictly as a chore chart. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

With a weak smile, Sasuke says, “‘Night, guys,” and slips off the bed.

 

 

“Uchiha Sasuke became aware of the situation,” the Godaime says just seven hours after Itachi’s return, once the village knows and everyone is clamoring for answers, “after she became a jounin. Shimura Danzo informed her once it became clear Uchiha Itachi's place within the Akatsuki was no longer a necessity for Konoha.”

It’s early, and still raining, but slower now, a thin drizzle coming down in a mist over the large crowd of jounin and clan heads and civilian government officials. The four guilty party are already regaled to the side of the platform, kept silent by shock as much as the Godaime repeatedly speaking over them. To her left is Sasuke, and then Shimura, and on the Godaime’s right, as far from the civilian Council members as possible, is Itachi. Between the humidity and the thousand searching eyes below, Sasuke finds it harder and harder to breathe.

By now, the Godaime’s explained their story—that Itachi was manipulated under false pretenses and the terms of the contract made illegally, Shimura Danzo only learned about it afterward through a document left in the ANBU archives, and Sasuke found out in a more innocent way than looking around in places where she need no business being.

In the short pause that follows the Godaime’s speech, before the Shimura-san can continue for his part, Aino Hideyoshi, from his place on the side, calls out, “That’s a lie. Shimura instigated it. We were only doing what was right for the village.”

Chimori Hana, who stands behind him, claims the Uchiha clan was nothing more than a family of revolutionaries, and Sasuke is no better than the rest.

“The Uchiha clan were responsible for the formation of this village,” Shimura-san says as below, a ripple of discomfort travels through the crowd. Naruto and Sakura are in the back, huddled close to Kakashi, and Kaoru’s near the front, out of place but watching Sasuke, expecting the worst. “I researched the allegations, but there is no evidence that they were anymore than falsehoods. Learning that one of my brightest pupils had been forced into such a position was...unsettling, but it was too late. I’m only glad that we could implement a withdrawal in time. Konoha worked hard after the War to guarantee nothing like this happened again. I only hope we better succeed in the future for the sake of our children.”

When Sasuke blackmailed Shimura-san into assisting with Itachi’s return, she hadn’t expected this much participation. If anyone else is surprised, they don’t show it, but the Council members sigh in disbelief and shake their heads. It’s useless, ultimately. Shinobi give little credit to a civilian’s word on the best of days; with the Akatsuki’s attack only days away, Kiri encroaching further on their territory in the Land of Waves, and the weather this terrible, it’s better to have a village legend returned and loyal than accused of treason. Shimura-san, leader of the ANBU, and the Godaime, a well-liked Hokage, both insisting that their lie is the honest truth is enough to make people believe its sincerity.

There’s a difference between liars and people who lie, but all kunoichi are liars in the end. Sasuke never thought she’d join a mass conspiracy and lie to the whole village.

After Godaime makes a statement about Council accountability and Itachi’s outstanding loyalty, she turns the discussion over to the audience. Hinata’s father, who Sasuke already knew wouldn’t like this, says before the rest, “Are we expected to trust Uchiha Itachi has no sense of obligation to the Akatsuki after all this time? On the word of his sister?”

“As well as my own, Hyuga-san,” the Godaime says as Sasuke’s eyes settle on him in the middle of the audience. “Both Uchiha Sasuke and myself shared a series of correspondences with Uchiha Itachi. The reports never stopped.”

“If you’re not a missing-nin,” a woman Sasuke only vaguely recognizes as a civilian asks, looking first to Itachi and then to her, “then are _you_ still clan head, Uchiha-san?”

There’s an awkward, momentary silence, because no one’s thought that far ahead, before Itachi says, “Though my time outside Konoha was mission, I still haven’t lived within the village for eight years. I am older, but Sasuke knows Konoha as it is. She has right to the position.”

In their rushed planning, no one paused to discuss the logistics of what his return meant, but the questions come in a rush now—what will happen now to the Council members under investigation (“That’s to be determined,” the Godaime says.)? Will there be an emergency election or will that wait until after the Akatsuki attack (“There will be an election when we know how many positions need to be filled.”)? Is Shimura-san under investigation and if so, what does that mean for ANBU (“Shimura-san was not involved,” Itachi says.)? After years of seeing Uchiha Itachi as a missing-nin, are we expected to trust him now? Will he be allowed to live without supervision (“No,” the Godaime says firmly, and adds that with Sasuke so frequently out of the village, they will not be living together.)? Will he help defend the village in the upcoming attack (“Yes.”)? The questions are daunting, and continue for far too long, so that by the time they begin to wind down, Sasuke’s lost thread of the discussion.

Near the end, the hospital’s head medic clears her throat so loudly the sound cuts through the audience. “I trust the Godaime,” she says, sitting in the back right corner with her hands in her lap and legs folded, dressed for the day in her uniform, “and I trust Uchiha-san, so if they say he’s loyal, then he’s loyal. Still, I request a psych evaluation.”

“Under what grounds?” It’s the first time Sasuke’s spoken since the meeting began, and her voice sounds thin even to her. The woman stares at her, dark eyes black in the overcast light and blonde hair turned the color of straw.

“I think that with village gossip being what it is,” she answers, and then takes a deep breath before continuing, “it’s safe to assume everyone here is aware you went through one yourself, Uchiha-san. I was an ordinary medic eight years ago, so I did my rounds in the children’s ward. I believe that if you had to go through one, then so does your brother.”

Itachi agrees too quickly, though that will never be removed from his records and it’s an outright shame acknowledging needing one, but at least he has the grace not the look guilty. To Sasuke’s embarrassment, expressions of relief pass over the various ANBU members' faces, and Kurenai and Asuma glance to one another. The Godaime doesn’t protest. Unfortunately, any medic-nin who dealt with Sasuke at seven, or recently, knows the Tsukuyomi. Maybe she shouldn’t be so surprised.

Not long after that, the Godaime calls the meeting to a close, claiming the greater importance is fortifying the village. Within minutes, Itachi’s gone in the direction of the hospital, Sakura and the head medic not far behind. Eagle and Deer, both masked, lead the Council members towards T&I. Jiraiya, who seemingly materializes in the Hokage’s offer after Sasuke relocates there with the Godaime and Kakashi, offers to house Itachi for a while, since he has intimate knowledge of the Akatsuki and leaves the village rarely, stating he can focus on his writing instead.

“No,” Sasuke says immediately, scarcely trusting the man with Naruto’s safety. They’re all soaked through their clothes with no hope of drying, rain steadily falling against the large window and turning the village outside grey. “Ji— _No._ ”

Within the half hour since the meeting ended, the group’s numbers have gone from three dozen to four. There’s Jiraiya, newly arrived, sitting relaxed and reclining in the Hokage’s chair like he owns it, and then Kakashi leaning against it, hip against the corner while the Godaime stands by the window, watching her citizens rush through the muddy streets below. Sasuke’s at the side of the desk opposite Jiraiya, on her feet, hands in her sweater pocket and back straight from stress more than manners. The air’s stifling and too hot. A half-drunk bottle of sake sits on the corner of the Godaime’s desk, uncorked.

After she refuses, they all look to her, expressions blank, not entirely knowing how to react. Finally, Jiraiya smiles, uncertain and lopsided, and says, “Who else do you think’s going to take him? Kid, they might believe that bullshit you all sold them out there, but Konoha still has standards. Even if they forgive killing your family, the adults here remember you were in that coma long enough they thought you were going to die. Torture wasn’t part of the deal.”

“I don’t care,” Sasuke says, hands bawling into fists inside her pockets. “You weren’t that shy about treating me like I couldn’t be trusted. How’s that supposed to translate to him?”

With a low sound of skepticism, he says, “Shimura Danzo would rather see an asset burn and use the story to make a martyr than let him return alive. He didn’t tell you anything.”

The Godaime explains what happened honestly, keeping the story short. “I’d see Shimura burn himself if we didn’t need someone established to back the story,” she says, folding her arms. “I healed him the best I could, and he’s not on your level, but I’m not going to keep someone that gifted out of the field. He’s going to need to be active if he wants to prove himself. Trust is easy to lose and hard to get back. You’re getting better at owning who you are, Sasuke, but you need to make yourself visible if you want your word to matter. The Hyuga clan isn’t happy. They’re louder than you are.”

“I have a spare bedroom,” Kakashi says before Sasuke can answer and remind the room that Itachi is famous because he’s brilliant, so it won’t be long before he doesn’t need her. She also doesn’t know who the Godaime was referring to, her to Jiraiya, but her brother is better than them both. “I’m planning more than out in the field.”

Looking from Kakashi to Sasuke and then back again, the Godaime says, “You really think that’s a good idea? It’s not like Jiraiya’s wrong.”

Sasuke exhales sharply. “The Tsukuyomi was an accident,” she says.

“See?” he says with one of his thin smiles. “It’s a good idea. Sasuke gets final say, after all.” As clan head, she ultimately determines a dependent family member’s living situation.

“No, it’s a bad idea,” Jiraiya says, frowning. “You really think you can handle him, knowing about that? Even Naruto bitched about favoritism when he was in his whinier moods, Kakashi. Tsunade, you’ve got to have a backup plan. Shimura’s not just going to let this go because Uchiha’s cute and knows her please and thank you.”

“If he tries anything, I have enough evidence on another matter to implicate him,” the Godaime says, so Kakashi looks at Sasuke, visible eye narrow, demanding answers later that she can’t give. “Then he’s dead, Sasuke disappears for a while, and we wait until it blows over. No. Not to Suna,” she adds before either he or Jiraiya can ask.

Since September, Sasuke’s gone to Suna twice, and both times debated on never returning. “Itachi can stay with Kakashi,” she says, shifting her weight, “if that’s really okay. Shimura-san promoted me. I’ll be out within a week after the attack, I’m guessing.”

“ _That_ ,” Kakashi says, directing his statement to the Godaime, who can still supersede Shimura-san’s decision, “I don’t think is a good idea.”

Jiraiya shakes his head, but Sasuke keeps her eyes focused above the chair back and out the window, refusing to acknowledge him.

Shrugging, the Godaime says, “Neither do I, but it’s done. Get out of here, both of you. Work with the defense teams. I know you have training this time of day. The Akatsuki will attack sooner rather than later now.”

If the Akatsuki doesn’t know about Itachi’s return to Konoha yet, they will soon. Sasuke and Kakashi exit together, leaving Jiraiya and the Godaime to discuss whatever secrets are left behind closed doors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, I know that by making Sai a new recruit I technically did away with Root, but that would just be over-complicating the plot by this point. Shimura Danzo is deplorable even without a village of brainwashed kids.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler alert? This is the Akatsuki's attack on Konoha. I went the realistic route, so it's violent. Remember how when I started this story I said it was non-graphic? Yeah, clearly something went wrong here.

The Akatsuki attacks on Monday, just three days after Itachi returns, in the middle of the afternoon when the mid-April sun is at its highest and the fortifications done.

At the time, Sasuke is with Hitomi and Nori, who returned from their mission the night before, sharing stories of the past two weeks. She’s just explaining about her promotion when the alarm sounds, alerting all members at base about the assault, and pauses long enough grab her bo before joining the mass exit towards the village center. Before he left, Itachi told the Akatsuki specific points of entry along the barrier so that Konoha didn’t have to focus on all their weakened areas. It doesn’t take long for Sasuke and the other ANBU members to realize the Akatsuki attacked all three entry points at once.

Sasuke is hardly within the limits of the village proper when Naoko knocks into her shoulder and her ankle catches on something long and raised so that she stumbles. As Nori grabs her waist, steadying her and pulling her along, she looks down and sees a leg detached from its body, sitting in a puddle of sticky blood awaiting flies. “Oh—” she says and, louder, “Oh, _fuck_ ,” because she sees Iruka, pinned beneath the crumbled stucco of an apartment complex, his hair loose from its holder and across his face but open, unblinking eyes still visible. The scar over his nose is bleeding, freshly cracked.

Then she’s in an alley, pain blooming from her back and tailbone from where they hit the wall when Hitomi slams her down. An explosion rocks the street so that the ANBU scatter, leaving spots in her vision that swim like the glow-in-the-dark stars Temari keeps stuck to Sasuke’s ceiling. Her ears ring, and her hearing seems murkier in her left side in the aftermath.

“I need to find my family,” Kai says from her place beside Nori as she forces herself to her feet, voice hollow, half her body covered in dust. There’s blood on her leg where she scraped it on the cobblestone. Sasuke never did like alleyways. “Ino’s only a chuunin.”

“Where’s Nori?” she says as her teammate helps her up, activating the Sharingan. Neither of them are in any better shape than Kai, who’s already gone. “Hitomi, where is he? I don’t see him.”

Hitomi grabs Sasuke’s shoulders, hard. “Hey, look at me,” she says, though she doesn’t sound steady. In the moment before Sasuke turns her head, she sees a team of jounin run past. “He went in the other direction. But we can’t stay here. Breathe.”

Sometimes it feels as though everyone is reminding her to breathe. Taking a deep breath, she says, “Go find him. I need to get Naruto.”

“You’ve already killed two of them,” Hitomi says, fingers wrapping around her wrist before she can run. Another explosion quivers the buildings, raining pink colored dust over their heads, but it’s further away now. “Do you really think they still give a shit about him?”

“And if they try to release the Kyuubi to go after the neighboring towns?” Sasuke says, thinking of Iruka’s leg and how just yesterday Konoha evacuated civilians and genin to Morimura and Kumura. It doesn’t matter if Naruto’s her friend; she’ll rip the Kyuubi back into his body and remove him from the fight to, for once, do her duty. “Get Nori.”

Though Hitomi’s mouth sets in a rigid line of unhappiness, she turns and runs in the direction of the opposite alley where their squad leader might still be alive. Sasuke calculates the fastest route to the town center where the Godaime, and likely Team Kakashi, will be, and jumps through the nearest broken window, weaving through apartments and hallways where the furniture is knocked to the floor and pictures dislodged from walls. Three buildings later, she pushes through the front doors of a butcher’s shop barely touched from destruction and exits into the business district near the hospital. There’s a straight road with no obstructions but the dead or dying now the market area, which means she has an estimated minute left before she’s there.

That estimated minute never comes, her chance to sprint lost abruptly when a body rams into her own, and into the ground. At impact, she gasps, one of her ribs cracking from pressure, and in the fleeting panic that follows— _no no no no no_ —she releases a Chidori that knocks the assailant away. Then there’s a sword she recognized, oversized and covered in spines like a sea urchin, swinging towards her, forcing her back into the dirt as she tries to stand and rattling her body when it connects her bo. With the Sharingan’s enhanced vision, she sees that the sword has a chakra signature, and charges her bo, turning it abruptly, forcing it away so she can stand. Kisame of Kiri is faster than the delay a parry can normally afford her, though, and even as she twists to avoid his next slash, the scales catch her side, shaving away the skin below the scar Gaara gave her years ago.

“I fought your brother for years, kid,” Kisame says as in three strikes, he has her disarmed and on her back again, pinned there with his foot on her chest. “I’ve watched him get so beat up he nearly died, so I get what you’re thinking—the Mangekyo seems like the best option now, am I right? Try it. You won’t last long after you activate it.”

Kisame’s sword has not just a chakra signature, but an identical chakra signature. His reserves rival Naruto. He can attack and create barriers with water. According to Itachi, he can travel beneath the earth if he’s desperate. He’s proficient in fire and wind. He can absorb chakra. The Bingo Book claims he’s the most skilled member of the Akatsuki. From what she learned in her own observations, he cares enough about her brother to make bad decisions.

With a deep breath that draws short under the weight of his boot, she says, “Itachi won’t be happy if we kill each other.”

“Do I look like I’m killing you?” her brother’s old partner says before worsening the pressure on her cracked rib. “Konoha’s prepared. They couldn’t be prepared without intel. What the fuck did your T&I unit do to get him to spill?”

“Running theory is that they threatened me.”

He moves his foot suddenly, reaching down to pull her up by her arm. The recently promoted Konoha chuunin lies dead not far beyond him, back broken over a boulder of debris and stomach torn. At the entrance to the street is Deidara of Iwa in his Akatsuki cloak, arm gone at the elbow and back right leg split, pulling himself along with the hospital wall as support.

“Now that would be a story,” Kisame says, voice garbled through her damaged hearing and his pointed teeth. “Konoha killing one of its clan heads. I wonder what Itachi would do then.”

There’s a jolt, and then a feeling like her energy bleeding away from her. “It’s good someone person cares,” she says, finger catching into the circle at the end of the kunai she drives into his eye.

Even with high levels of chakra and the ability to heal, he’s weak in the eyes. Instinctively, he releases her arm to grab her wrist instead, bringing up his sword in the same moment. She grits her teeth as the scales scrape her back and knees him hard into the solar plexus, driving the kunai until he stumbles. With a push to the abdomen, he forces her away, but she lands on her feet, skidding to a halt beside her intact bo. Removing the kunai will only result in removing his eye, so he charges her instead. But now his vision’s damaged, his reflexes inherently slower, and she slides beneath his next attack, thrusting her bo upward to strike the broadside of the sword. Her lightning isn’t chakra in the traditional sense, so without skin contact, there’s nothing to absorb when she charges her weapon and releases a burst of electricity down the blade.

Independent of its wielder, it falls, injured. Kisame exclaims in surprise, but still catches her bo in her next attack. “Shit,” he says as the Mangekyo Sharingan bleeds over her normal one and Deidara of the Akatsuki screams. When the pattern spins, his good eye shuts, his hands occupied and years of fighting with her brother giving him a detailed knowledge of what she plans to do next.

In the space of a blink, she yanks away her bo and wrenches out the kunai.

“Oh, I was wrong about you,” he says, clutching his eye in hand and catching the blood soaked kunai in the other as she moves to attack again. “What would it take to bring you on board with him?”

He swings for her in an undisciplined punch, but she sidesteps into his blind spot and throws a shuriken into the back of his knee. “Why would you want me?”

In an instant, he performs a Shunshin, somehow dislodging the shuriken in the same movement, and reappears behind her. “Eh, killing you would make him sad,” he says, releasing three spinning water spheres sharp enough to leave groves in the already damaged ground. For the first time, he sounds winded. “Didn’t I tell you years ago? Itachi’s my partner. We’re practically family.”

“Fuck you,” she answers, but loses her opportunity to do anything than dodge when Gai vaults over the wall from behind Kisame, feet connecting solidly with the back of his head.

Kisame reels forward, away from Gai as he lands and into Sasuke, who’s forming the hand seals to mimic his attack. With a quick look to Gai, who looks back and nods once, she turns and runs.

Even injured, it takes just that minute to reach the village square, weaving between toppled buildings and strewn bodies. When she exits, the Godaime’s already covered in black lines, attempting to sustain the village, while Sakura and Naruto fight jointly against two men covered in black rods. Pein’s men, if Itachi’s right. She doesn’t know where Itachi is. If plans are going as they should, then he’s with Team Asuma, leading away Hidan and Kakuzu from Konoha towards the trap they lay just two days earlier. Naruto’s glowing red, the form of two tails swaying over the ground, leaving scorch marks wherever they touch.

Deidara lies dead, Kurenai and Badger both bloodied and burned nearby, struggling to catch their breath.

“What happened to _you?_ ” Naruto says when she comes to a halt at his side, leaving a clear trail behind her from her side and back. “Watch out!”

Before the warning’s done, Sasuke’s dodged, moved up and over the sudden gravitational pull that draws Sakura closer to the opponent. For a moment, she scrambles on her toes, and then punches down, fist breaking apart the earth and distributing the attack. “It has a recharge time,” she says as Naruto sends a wind shuriken forward in a rush. “There’s one out near the Academy that heals. We can’t successfully kill the rest until that one’s dead, I don’t think.”

If the plans are moving as they should, then Jiraiya and Kakashi are searching for the real Pein, who has to be within the village limits. They spent the past week formulating this plan. Sasuke and the other ANBU were supposed to be at various gates they were going to be assigned at the end of the today’s training session. After the attack began, she wasn’t to leave Naruto’s side. Now, looking at him, his red aura turned redder from the Sharingan, she realizes that the Akatsuki can’t have anyone in Konoha murder her intentionally, but the Kyuubi knows she’s killed two bijuu. Should Naruto lose control, she’s likely the first to die.

“I’ll take care of it,” she says, evading the rush of swinging arms and throwing a shuriken it swats away. “Naruto, concentrate on staying in control.”

He tries to say that he knows that, but she’s already gone, running past the Godaime and through the swelling crowd moving in this directing, all fleeing from summons. As she goes past an alley, moving along the wall instead of the ground for quicker mobility, she catches sight of the new recruit pressing his hands over Shin’s neck. She’s talked to Shin only a handful of times since she joined ANBU but once she’s down the street and they’re out of sight, she remembers that the two of them are brothers.

Unlike the figure in the square, the medic isn’t attacking actively, and isn’t alone. “Hey,” she says, like a rookie, drawing the attention of both away from Team Kurenai and Team Gai, missing their namesakes. “My name’s Uchiha Sasuke. I’m looking for the leader of the Akatsuki.”

“I know who you are,” the two say at once as Tenten, still poised for an assault with one arm hanging uselessly at her side, wrist bent in an unnatural direction, shouts for Sasuke to leave. “What do you want with the Akatsuki?”

“I want to know why you wanted jinchuuriki,” she says, planting her bo against the ground. On Neji’s orders, Kiba and Shino pick up Hinata and Lee, both unconscious, to take away somewhere safe. “Team Gai, Team Kurenai. Go destroy the summons.”

They all look over, scandalized, but after a repeat, “ _Go_ ,” they follow orders.

Fighting Pein’s puppets isn’t like fighting Kisame; one hardly moves, but the other keeps her running, summoning quicker than is reasonable, until she’s forced to use the Shunshin she tries to avoid in an effort to preserve chakra. Regardless of how fast it is, though, it has a similar delay to the multi-faced figure back in the village square, and she soon finds the timing. The rhino clips her side, digging deeper into the wound Kisame made, but she moves before the horn can impale her and gains speed, gathering electricity into her hand until the moment the delay strikes in the aftermath of summoning the Giant Panda. Then she thrusts the Chidori through the figure’s back, sending shockwaves ricocheting through the body. If it’s not dead, it’s at least slowed.

Sasuke doesn’t have much energy left. Between the taxing Shunshin and the fight with Kisame, she easily overexerted herself. Through the Sharingan’s red haze, she watches a shape begin to form behind the figure left, like a gateway or a mask. The figure doesn’t talk. Neither does she. Instead, the shape forms a face’s distorted features and she lets her Sharingan slid into the Mangekyo.

“I trained your brother’s eyes,” the figured says, expressionless and toneless. “There’s nothing you can do to surprise me.”

Out of habit, she says, “Well, I’m not him,” before lighting the body with Amaterasu beneath the robes and spreading it across the body. Itachi said they’re corpses, and therefore won’t die unless the destruction is complete. It only seems right to kill this one again with fire that can’t burn out when funeral rites rely on cremation.

Even if the body survives, wherever it goes, the fire goes with it. The shape behind it fades, eyes first and outline last. With this one gone, the others can’t heal, which gives Konoha a better chance.

As she turns to leave, pain racks through her body from the worsened injury on her side so that she collapses alone outside the Academy’s broken doors. One bangs open from the wind, knocking rhythmically against the other in a way she hadn’t noticed earlier. Her Sharingan fades, vision dimmed as her head swims. She clutches her side, fingers slippery and slick. With the other hand, she grasps at her bo, grip so tight her skin’s lost its circulation.

That’s when the first body stands.

To destroy one, a person needs to destroy it utterly—it stands there, mobile, the hole in its chest revealing a mangled, unbeating heart and shattered ribs. She thinks, _There goes Kisame’s plan_.

Then the sand comes, sweeping over her in an arch to wrap around the broken, beaten body and crush it to splittered bone. Red oozes between grains of sand, and when the column flows back over her, it leaves behind tattered clothes, clumps of hair, an intact femur. Though she tries to sit up, or at the very least turn, a hand at her shoulder stops her. Some time during the fight, her sleeve tore off, and she feels the thin fingers and callused palm that mean it’s Temari, not Gaara.

Voice distant, Temari says, “We’re here to return the favor.” Sasuke’s working ear is to the ground, obscuring her hearing. “Nakakami-san wrote to us from Morimura requesting help. You should’ve done that.”

Though it hurts, Sasuke laughs, the sound bubbling and harsh against her broken ribs. “Of course he did.”

Above her, someone whistles. “It’s safe, Ami-san,” Gaara says, voice muffled as though he’s underwater.

A moment later, a blue-haired medic Sasuke knows from the Suna hospital knees at her side, hands glowing and directing Temari on which supplies to take. “It will only be a quick fix, Uchiha-san,” she says, “to get you back on your feet.”

When chakra-warm hands press against the wound on Sasuke side, she shouts louder than advisable. “Where’s Team Seven?” she manages to ask, though it comes out forced and stuttering.

Gaara touches her hair, his fingers pressing to the space above her ear. “Still fighting,” he says. “I’m going to help now. Temari will protect you both.”

Though Sasuke doesn’t know for certain, she must fall unconscious for five minutes or maybe more, waking to tight bandages wrapped around her torso and her hearing restored. The Giant Rhino is on its side not far away, groaning and close to dead when it wasn’t there before. It needs to be returned if it’s going to survive.

“Come on,” Temari says, taking Sasuke by the waist to help her to her feet. In the time since she fainted, the sun lost its height, turning the springtime sky gold and pink. When she’s steady, Temari removes her fan from her back, ready for attack. Her hair’s piled back all in one holder, or at least was, now out and in her face. There’s a cut on her knee and scrapes on her palms.

Ami, her short blue hair made vibrant by the deep gold light, follows them towards the village square, but separates to follow screams down an alleyway towards the business sector. In the square, Sakura’s glowing, hair swirling around her neck, eyes closed, and hands to the Godaime’s back, helping her heal the village. Though she isn’t fighting now, evidence that she was is scattered through the street in the form of crushed debris and craters. Kankuro, Naruto, and two of Pein’s figures move around them, careful not to land in one and lose their footing.

Except the figures are moving slower than before, like whoever’s controlling them is otherwise occupied. “Where’s Gaara?” Sasuke says when she comes into line beside Kankuro, reactivating the Sharingan.

“That sannin guy sent a summon,” Kankuro says, dashing with Sasuke behind a fallen piece of the Hokage tower’s roof as Temari swipes her fan, blasting the figures with wind. Naruto’s nearly disappeared inside the Kyuubi’s image. “Said he and Hatake needs back up. Naruto offered. Gaara said no. Kazekage rights.”

Sasuke shoves Kankuro away from the ceiling piece the second before it shatters, covering them with dust and sharp stones. “Anyone else go?” she asks, thinking there aren’t enough opponents left in the village, nor enough dead, for the square to be this deserted.

“A ton of jounin,” he says. “There still summons running around. Chuunin are taking care them. Any ideas for this?”

These last two appear significantly more combative than the two she faced earlier, but with slower reflexes and longer delay times, she doubts they’ll be impossible to kill. “Take care of these two,” she says. “I’ll take care of Naruto.”

“Take care? What?”

Without answering, Sasuke navigates between jutsu and craters to come beside her friend, whose chakra is so intense it hurts just to stand near. “I’m sorry about this,” she says, forcibly reactivating the Mangekyo, and for the first time, attempting to split her focus between the inside of a seal and her surroundings. By now, sheer adrenaline is keeping her standing.

It’s dizzying, neither image solid as she simultaneously watches Kiba and Tenten leap out of the library’s tallest window, followed by the Giant Ox, and Naruto argue with the Kyuubi about how they had an understanding. Part of her—the physical part—releases a volley of lightning senbon needles too weak to cause real damage but numerous enough to make the figure rushing her to veer in the opposite direction. But at the same time, this other part—the part that might be her conscience—stands as an intruder inside the Kyuubi’s prison and says, “Naruto, get control.”

_You._

Expectedly, the Kyuubi surges forward, but halts when she raises her arm, palm flat, ready to touch his snout and return him behind bars. _You are a child_ , he says, voice sinking into her chest as Kankuro’s puppet snaps in two, its gears exposed to the sunset sky. _You are both children. I am the most powerful of all the bijuu. You have no right to command me._

“Hey,” Naruto says, waving his hands in an effort to get the fox’s attention. “Don’t talk to Sasuke like that. It's rude.”

She doesn’t have the energy for this and the Kyuubi knows it. “They already gave me your face,” she says as outside the blinding white room of the seal, in the physical world, one figure leads Temari away and the second stalks closer. “That gives me some sort of right. Naruto, get a hold of yourself. I’ll can help.”

Jaws snapping, the Kyuubi rears back, giving Naruto time to snag his fur. When she steps forward, again raising her hand, her body instinctively moves as well, her hand sinking painfully into the Kyuubi’s intangible form. Though it hurts, she doesn’t move away, pressing her hand against Naruto’s threadbare, sweat-soaked jacket so real she can feel raised stitches. Inside, her palm touches the Kyuubi’s cold, wet, quivering nose and together, she and Naruto force him back into his prison.

But there’s a hand on her shoulder that appears disembodied and phantom-like in the seal. As she starts losing form, and inside her chest her heartbeat slows, Naruto calls out in his confusion and reaches for her, taking her wrist in his hand, inside the seal and out. The touch causes a reaction—a sudden flow of energy from him through her up, out through her conscience and body into the figure’s hand. It isn’t stealing her chakra. It’s taking something worse than that, spreading her thin until that second when she finally feels her heart stop and using her like a cipher to get to him.

Then she’s back, alone in her body and on her knees with her bo dropped at her side. Her head jerks up, followed by a soft exhale from the figure above her, and she grabs her weapon, twisting, driving it into his shoulder.

Naruto’s still glowing, three tails thrashing against the ground, but he’s in control. “I thought he was _killing you,_ ” he says as he slams a Rasengan into the figure’s chest and Sasuke aborts her efforts to stand, scrambling out of the way. “How did you get out of that? Hey, what’s wrong?”

Before she can answer, he’s away, leaving her there on the ground with her hands clutched over her left eye, struggling to breathe through the pain. Gold streaks, brilliant and bright, lace in the perfect lines of a child’s drawing through thick, white-grey clouds. Patches of blue peek out whenever they grow fishbone skeleton thin so that the edges turn pink. Slowly, the colors merge, blurring into the crashes and shouts like sight and sound are all one sense as the pain spreads fire-like throughout her damaged body.

Sasuke breathes and, like that, loses consciousness.

 

 

When Sasuke wakes, lying on a cot in a makeshift hospital erected in tents outside the village walls, she learns that her brother, Team Kakashi, and the Suna siblings are alive. Hitomi survived. Nori did not. Neither did a good number of others.

Neji, prodigy of the Hyuga clan, died at seventeen, trampled to death by the Giant Ox. At thirty-three, Sarutobi Asuma is survived by his nephew Sarutobi Konohamaru, his fiance Yuuhi Kurenai, and their unborn children. Shin, Sai’s brother, was twenty-six, and joined ANBU just the year before Sasuke. Former classmates of the single Konoha-nin to advance to chuunin this year called her Nana, though her real name was Mizurika Natsu. She was fourteen. Iruka, the favorite Academy instructor of every student to attend in the last six years, was only twenty-seven.

Though there are others, these are the ones that Sasuke knew. The total death tally, by the end of the following morning, is ninety-three with another one hundred thirty-two injured. In retribution, the Konoha-nin and, towards the end, the Suna-nin succeeded in successfully killing Pein of the Akatsuki, Deidara of Iwa, Kakuzu of Taki, and Kisame of Kiri. Before Asuma died, his team, with Itachi’s help, assisted not only in Kakuzu’s death, but also in trapping Hidan of Yuga. Konoha may have lost many, the Godaime says when the death tally’s released, but in returned, they ran the Akatsuki to ground.

Sasuke watches the speech from her space between Itachi and Temari, falling asleep against her friend’s side. Since she woke, her teammates and brother have acted skittish around her, but refuse to explain why. The sedative works sluggishly through her system, keeping her exhausted, and the bandage wrapped around her left eye obscures her vision. All the shinobi healthy enough to attend the meeting are gathered on a series of blankets spread across the forest floor, seated in little groups before the Godaime, who reclines back on a mound of pillows. Though no one’s said it, the whole village knows she extended herself too far trying to keep who’s left alive.

When the meeting’s done, a finger taps the back of Sasuke’s neck. She jumps, knocking her elbow into Temari’s badly bruised hip. “What?” Sasuke says, and looks up at Sakura, who’s spent the meeting attentively listening between Naruto and Rock Lee.

“Tsunade-sama wants to see the three of you,” she answers, glancing past Sasuke to Itachi and Kakashi. “She said it this morning. Do either of you need help standing?”

During the fight against Pein, Kakashi shielded Jiraiya from an attack that almost killed them both, but suffered no lasting damage. No one’s been explicit about what happened to Sasuke yet, but the Godaime already warned her that entering seals affected their ability to heal her.

Kakashi stands on his own. Too exhausted to be prideful, Sasuke accepts her roommate’s outstretched hand and steadies herself to walk. With so many shinobi injury, she hadn’t expected to be able to see upon waking, but her vision in her uncovered eye is normal. Sakura claimed the worst injured had the highest priorities, so next to the recent amputees, Sasuke was number one.

That wasn’t comforting.

When the Godaime arrives at the back of guard room, which is just inside the walls and implies this conversation is private, it’s late evening and the sun is setting. “I’m going to take off your bandages,” she says without preamble, reaching over to undo the knot in the back, “and the hopefully one of _these_ two has a good explanation for what’s going on here.”

“Is that,” Kakashi starts once the bandages fall and Sasuke blinks rapidly until the blurriness goes away. She’s sitting on a desk, fingers curled around the edge, across from him where he leans against the wall. “Itachi?”

Itachi’s Sharingan is activated, looking her over. “It’s not an implant,” he says, confused. There’s a scrape on his forehead and gauze patch stuck over it.

“Yeah, I think I’d know if someone implanted me with something,” she says, glancing around the room. “What’s going on?”

For a moment, no one answers, and no one looks at her. Then the Godaime says, “Your left eye is the same as Pein.”

Sasuke touches the skin beneath her left eye, which feels tender and bruised. “That’s not possible.”

“He never said what his eye technique was named,” Itachi says, folding his arms, frowning severely, “but I heard a man in Ame once refer to it as the Rinnegan. I didn’t think it was true.”

“The Rinnegan,” the Godaime repeats. “What’s the Rinnegan?”

As Kakashi shrugs and Itachi averts his eyes, Sasuke says, “It’s the highest form of the Sharingan. But I’m missing a few steps, and he definitely wasn’t a Uchiha.”

Raising a brow, the Godaime says, “It’s an advanced form of the Sharingan, and you’re telling me he definitely wasn’t a Uchiha?”

“You can ask Jiraiya,” Kakashi says from his corner, “but I think his hair was natural. It’s genetically impossible for them to be related. People thought Obito’s hair was light, remember?”

“So then it was an implant,” she says. “Fine. What steps are you missing? How do the two of you know about it?”

Briefly, and with sparing detail that neglects any mention of later intruders, Sasuke explains about the shrine and its engravings. “I told Itachi a couple of months ago,” she adds when she’s finished. “But there’s this ridiculous inscription about chakra combination and reincarnation, so I don’t believe everything it says. I ignored it. It’s just here now? That’s what you’re saying? It’s not going away?”

Itachi opens the drawer below her hip, shuts it, and searches through the one below it as Kakashi rubs the bridge of his nose and the Godaime presses her palms together, fingers to her lips. After a moment, Itachi holds up the mirror shinobi working night shift use to shave come morning. “It’s not the Sharingan, Sasuke,” he says. “You can’t control its appearance.”

In the mirror, she sees a pale, thin face with a narrow nose  and mismatched eyes. As always, her right is a dark blue, but her left lacks any white, covered with a light lavender in its entirety. Similar to the Sharingan, there are three circles, each a dark grey and so thin they’re hardly noticeable.

Pein just ripped apart their village, and now Sasuke has an eye that resembles his.

“Heal up,” the Godaime says as Sasuke lays the mirror down. “Go on like normal. ANBU will give you more than enough practice with it.”

This is Kiri’s chance to declare war, in the moment when Konoha’s week. With that a certainty and Nori dead, she and Hitomi are co-captains. “Right,” she says flatly, numbly, still trying to grasp that she developed the _Rinnegan_ at a time when she needs to be perfect to help keep the village’s opinion of Itachi positive.

When the Godaime’s left, the door kept open in her wake to discourage procrastination, Itachi takes Sasuke beneath the arm and steadies her when she gets down. A breeze sweeps into the room, the springtime chill cutting into her and blowing the discarded bandages around her ankles. I didn’t ask for this, she thinks. She didn’t ask for any of this.

Sakura meets them at the treeline and grimaces before tugging Sasuke into a hug. “People suck,” her friend says preemptively, so she sighs, the sound sad and defeated against the coarse, sterile cloth of a medic’s frock.

 

 

Three days later, Kirigakure declares war against Konoha for the annexation of the Land of Waves.

“You’re overreacting,” Naruto says that same day after Sasuke lists the flaws in his plans to spend a week studying frog summoning. “You saw what the Pein guy could do. If I get better at Summoning, I don’t have to keep banking on the Kyuubi for a power boost.”

Early this morning, she joined Kakashi and Sakura, who’s become the Godaime’s assistant while Shizune recovers from burns earned in a fight against Deidara, in meeting about Kiri’s demands and how to move forward. An hour later, they released the news to village and Shimura-san sent a messenger for her, calling her to base. Suna declared on Konoha’s side within hours. Ame will likely declare for Kiri, if they don’t stay neutral. By the end of the week, Kumo will join Konoha and Iwa Kiri, despite natural land barriers. Lesser villages will fall where they may out of the inevitability of becoming battlegrounds themselves.

While they wait and work to rebuild, Naruto cannot leave to study frogs.

“You’re an Uzumaki,” she says without looking up, rearranging the unfolded change of clothes at the top of her pack. She isn’t in a rush, but she doesn’t have the energy to maintain an argument, so they’ve brought theirs outside, walking along the deserted wall. It gives the discussion a time limit. “You learned the Rasengan in a week. I’m pretty sure you’re better than what’s inside you.”

Sunlight pours across the cloudless blue sky, piercing through branches that create criss-cross shadows waving around the grass in front of them as they walk. Normally, Konoha in spring is sweet, every breeze light and smelling of flowering trees and the candy flavoring from shaved ice. Now the entire village stinks of lumber and cut stone. The wind, at least, carried away the smoke from last night when they burned their dead.

Breathing out, the sound rough, Naruto says, “That’s easy for you to say. You know me. But people finally like me and now they’re all freaked out because a ton of them saw what happened, you know? And a big, huge frog covers more ground, right?”

There’s a headache growing from Sasuke’s temple beside her newly formed Rinnegan. More than anyone else, she understands the village opinion’s easy sway. At least Itachi proved himself in helping defend them. “And if they decide to start a skirmish on the western border?” she asks, glancing at her friend, repositioning her pack over her back. He frowns, the expression ill-suited to his face. “Or attack the Land of Waves? You’re a thousand times better than half the jounin in Konoha, Naruto. You were even before a fourth of the ANBU were killed. So’s Sakura. Both of you should focus on learning a second nature transformation so you can be promoted.”

“Sakura doesn’t have time,” he says in a tone that implies they discussed this before, and recently. “ _I_ don’t have time. Not everyone’s you, Sasuke.”

She stops. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she says, hold tightening on the pack’s strap.

Clearly annoyed now, he answers, “Me and Sakura are awesome, you know? She’s, like, the best medic-nin ever other than Tsunade. You’re right about me totally being jounin level. But we don’t pick up on stuff like you do.”

“If you can spare a week to study frogs,” she says, ignoring that, because she only has the ability through the Sharingan, “you can spare a week to learn water from Sakura or something. We’ve lost a lot of jounin. I can’t believe I have to tell you this.”

“So I’ll learn that when I get back,” he says, hands balling into fists when she sighs. “You’re acting like I’m skipping out. This’ll help.” He doesn’t say it, but she knows him well him to guess he’s thinking of the number of people he might have saved if he had more techniques.

“You learned how to do this when you when thirteen,” she says. “Why didn’t you try to advance it earlier? Like when you were gone for two years?”

Before she can further argue that unless he’s a jounin, they won’t be placed on the same missions even when she’s unmasked, or he can interrupt, Sakura calls their names from the street. “Good,” she says, jogging over with Tazuna and Inari, the carpenter family from the Land of Waves at her heels. “I was hoping I’d catch you.”

Though she’s grinning, the smile’s tired, and a week of power naps instead of sleep has left bruised exhaustion beneath her eyes. “They wanted to see to you,” she says as Tazuna and Inari’s own smiles fade, replaced by hinting frowns and turned in eyebrows.

“What’s with your eye?” Inari asks. Boys of thirteen aren’t known for keeping their thoughts to themselves.

With falsely cheerful loudness, Naruto says for her, “Magic,” and continues, “Are you guys here to help with the building?”

Magic doesn’t exist, but Sasuke has so few answers about the Rinnegan it feels like the cause. Sakura glances at her out of the corner of her eye, one side of her mouth quirking upward as she rolls one shoulder. Though the movement isn’t terribly discreet, Sasuke reaches up and moves her hair across her face. Over the past few days, even Itachi’s stared just a moment too long. For her final three medical treatments, Sakura refused to allow anyone else to heal her. Kaoru wanted her to talk about how it feels before she even left hospital care.

Now, without practice and very few ideas about the consequences of using the Rinnegan, Sasuke’s about to act as Captain on an ANBU mission. When she agreed, she thought Nori was going to be with her. For as overprotective as he was, he was brilliant and worked quickly, and always saw the mission finished as fast as possible so they returned to Konoha on time. Naruto shouldn’t be surprised she wants him to stay in the ravaged village open to attack when she doesn’t know how long she and Hitomi will be away.

“After all Konoha’s doing for us?” Tazuna says, hand resting on his grandson’s back. “It only seems right. My daughter’s setting up the room they gave us. I didn’t think we’d run into you so soon or I would’ve brought her along. You three have really grown up. You’re taller than me, kid.”

Last time Team Kakashi was in the Land of Waves together, they stopped briefly at Tazuna’s house, but only Tsunami was home. Naruto straightens his posture and places his hand to his forehead, stretching it out to measure himself. “Not a lot yet,” he says. “How old are you now? Thirteen?”

Inari nods. “Yup. I’ll be fourteen in May.”

“I can’t believe it’s been over three years,” Sakura says, as though she’s older than sixteen. “When did you start apprenticing? Shouldn’t you still be in school?”

Shrugging, Inari says a person doesn’t need to finish if they have an apprenticeship, which he began last year. “I heard _you’re_ a doctor,” he says, which is the civilian word for medical-nin, “and you were really cool and saved Konoha. That’s what some guy was saying. Where’re you going, Sasuke?”

The tan pack is heavy on Sasuke’s shoulder, digging into her skin through the thin fabric of her t-shirt. “Away,” she says, readjusting it again. “Suna wants me for something. Stay in Konoha for a while.”

As they haven’t mentioned it, she doubts they’ve heard about Kiri and the war yet. It takes a week just to reach here on foot at civilian speed. Tazuna agrees readily, saying building will take time regardless, and he wants to catch up when they return. Small states always become battlegrounds during shinobi wars. Current situation dictates that this time, the Land of Waves will one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it's winding to a close. I've been writing it for such a long time that I'm not prepared to let this character go.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is weird, I guess you can say. Technically it's the War Arc. Technically.

“There aren’t supposed to be this many hunter-nin,” Hitomi says a week after Sasuke’s ANBU team leaves Konoha, the two of them crouching with their squad in a ditch near the western coast of the Land of Mist’s main island. “Any ideas?”

Hitomi, who’s bristling with rage and grief and self-disappoint in the wake of Nori taking the impact from Deidara’s final bomb for her, is the only one to fully accept Sasuke as her co-captain. Now Sasuke, who’s mind plays on a loop the thought that she wishes her real captain was still here, sinks into mud that sticks of rot and metallic blood, and thinks of a plan he would hate. “One of them looks like Sparrow from the back,” she says, using the wall of the ditch to raise herself just high enough to peek over the edge, her right Sharingan activated to search movement and chakra signatures. “Badger, can you incapacitate her long enough for Sparrow to steal the clothes and infiltrate from the back if we cause a distraction?”

There’s mud on her neck already dried to dirt, stuck to her skin like stucco. Yesterday, Badger’s hair was as long as her cousin’s, but it’s shorter than even Sakura’s now, cut in an effort to escape a hunter-nin trap. “Yeah,” Kai says, rubbing the sloppily chopped back. “This is ridiculous. I’ve never heard of a fifteen man assault like this.”

“I think some are Iwa ANBU in disguise,” Hitomi says, “and if Iwa signed on, it’s going to be a lot harder to get Suna back up. Cat, can you create something small enough to screw with them first?”

Sai gives an affirmative and pulls out a pen and paper, beginning a sketch of a mole. As earth users, Naoko and Riku, or Rooster, are responsible for the hunter-nin, who rely predominantly on water based attacks, but Iwa is Sasuke’s territory. Though over the past week, they’ve faced skirmishes, this is their first real fight. She’s avoided using the Mangekyo or the Rinnegan until now. If this grows as dangerous as she suspects it wall, at least the Mangekyo will be unavoidable, which may activate the Rinnegan regardless. 

If Nori were here, he would have thought of a better plan than this. 

The mole springs from the page and buries into the earth, aiming for the opposite ditch where the hunter-nin are hiding. Explosive tags and ordinary weaponry litter between the two, keeping either side from leaving their area, but the enemy-nin’s greater numbers give them an advantage. Then someone screams, Sai releases a second mole, and Hitomi, surprisingly, squeezes Sasuke’s hand briefly before activating the camouflage jutsu and leaping from the ditch. 

A moment later, Sasuke follows, combining the jutsu with a Shunshin to land in Kiri territory—a technique a hunter-nin attempted earlier, but failed without the added advantage of invisibility. 

Any advantage she has dies the moment she slits the nearest one’s throat, a dark haired girl with a co-captain’s emblem. She leaps out, deactivating the camouflage jutsu as she does so two follow, one running right over an explosive tag she knew to avoid. In an instant, Hitomi is on the second, another girl who from the back could be the co-captain’s twin, driving a thin knife through her chest. A fourth hunter-nin gets Sai from behind, a senbon needle like the Haku boy’s from years ago sinking into his neck from where he remains in the ditch.

Carelessly, he tugs it out and resumes drawing. Sasuke loses sight a moment later, watching from the corner of her eye as Badger leads the hunter-nin who resembles Sparrow away past the treeline. 

This is a scout-and-burn mission, so there aren’t meant to be survivors. Rooster, who Sasuke’s never worked with before, creates an earth dome around a hunter-nin as he forms the seals for a mist jutsu, trapping him inside before it can spread. Then Rooster tumbles, a senbon needle protruding from his spine, thrown by the same one who attacked Sai. An ink bird elegantly drawn emerges from the ditch, vibrating with his chakra signature. By the time the earth dome drops, its ready to strike, and leaves black stains across the hunter-nin’s body when it flies past. His mask dislodges, revealing the drawn, badly scarred face of a boy who can’t be any older than Sasuke.

Sparrow reemerges, dropping next to him silently, and stabs him through the back with a katana when he relaxes, looking to his teammate for support. In the chaos, the other hunter-nin don’t notice, and she kills a second and third the same way before the rest realize she doesn’t belong.

“Everyone down!” Sasuke calls when the remaining hunter-nin are all grounded so that instantaneously, her team leaps for the trees. Swampland is the best conductor for electricity, and with one stab of her charged bo into a puddle, blue lightning shoots and sparks off the mud, leaving their opponents dazed. 

Too late, she realizes Rooster hadn’t reached the trees in time. 

As four recover faster than others, and her team completes a synchronized strike against the five still downed, Sasuke sees Riku on his side not far away, mask cracked down the side. The hunter-nin with senbon needles, who Sasuke finally realizes is the other co-captain, dodges Hitomi’s water kunai and aims for Riku instead of retaliating directly. Panicked, she activates the Mangekyo Sharingan, which activates the Rinnegan, adrenaline flaring in her system so it feels as though time slows. She dashes toward her teammate, half sliding, half scrambling, until her body is over his. The projectiles whistle against the wind behind her. His black hair has streaks of red undertones. With the needle in his back, he can’t move. 

Like that, instinct takes over, and her eyes settle on her bo ten feet away. She grips his shoulder, pictures herself there, and then— _ is.  _

“How the—” the co-captain starts, but Sasuke throws a rush of lightning formed senbon needles of her own, piercing him through the chest in his surprise. Nori called her fucked up, but at least she’s useful.

The fight ends moments after that when Sparrow tricks a final hunter-nin too dazed from Sasuke attack to remember the trap, and kills him with a slash down the chest with the katana. 

As Sasuke stands, she deactivates the Sharingan and Rinnegan and pulls Rei up with her, his arm around her shoulders. “We need showers,” she says, exhausted, and everyone else, just as exhausted, readily agrees. 

 

 

When Sasuke and team return, it’s just a few hours into the first day of May. Most of the residential area and Main Street are rebuilt. Naruto’s back. The Sandaime’s nose is still broken off. Konoha held the ceremony for their dead four days earlier. 

She’s with Hitomi, Sai, and Kai when Sakura tells her. “It’s not like Itachi had any say in it,” Sakura says, running her fingers through her hair and glancing at the newly erected memorial stone, glistering from newness in the sunlight, “and Hyuga-san insisted they do it in the normal time frame after burning. For respect. You weren’t here to argue. Council members agreed. Tsunade-sama had to. I don’t know who was closer to killing him, me or Ino.”

Other casualties from the Akatsuki attack include both Kai’s parents, and Naoko’s younger sister, who made jounin two years ago. As Sasuke, Sai, and Kai stand there in silent shock, Hitomi, who’s never met Sakura before, says, “I’m going to kill him. Respect? For who? A branch member the main house doesn’t care about?”

Even the main house cares about Neji. Sai releases his breath slowly, scuffing his foot against the dirt. On normal days, he’s worse at expressing himself than Sasuke. “Shimura-san didn’t protest?” he says, looking up, eyes wide. “For us?” For Shin, he means. For the one fourth of their members dead. 

“No,” Sakura says, folding her arms. “Of course not. He agreed. For respect. Naruto came back day of, and missed the first half.”

For ordinary funerals, the ceremony is held the day of burning. For mass funerals, it’s held within two weeks. “Like he would do anything else,” Hitomi says, hands bunching the hem of her shirt near her hip. Her hair’s down, her dark curls falling to her waist. Early May heat soaks through their clothes, reflecting off the black stone and cracking the dirt beneath the grass. “He doesn’t care about—”

“Hitomi,” Sasuke says sharply, because even through all of this, she promised Shimura-san amnesty in return for his lie. She looks away, her profile dramatic against backdrop of the broken Hokage monument. 

Crossing her arms in a stance that mimics Sakura, Kai says, “What’s that supposed to mean?  _ Captain? _ ”

Though Sakura’s here, none of them are being discreet. “Everyone’s selfish,” she says, frowning, trying to save Sasuke from lying. “It’s not like that’s news. Three Hyuga died of like the five fighting. He’s pretty pissed that both you and Itachi came out alive, I’m guessing.”

“It’s not Sasuke’s fault she’s better,” Hitomi says, running her fingers through her hair. “Screw him. We deserved this. Nori didn’t have anyone else.”

Nori’s father died during the Kyuubi attack. His mother died a few years ago of illness. He never had siblings. Even if Sasuke’s a poor substitute for anyone’s family, she understands. Without them, there was no one here to say goodbye in the way he deserved.

Clearly uncomfortable, Sai asks, “What’s wrong with Shimura-san?”

“Besides the fact that made Sasuke captain with a citation on her records?” Sakura says. “Tsunade-sama’s not happy about that either. No offense.”

Kai holds up her hand, and before either Sakura or Sasuke can argue her rudeness, says, “You might be in Godaime-sama’s pocket, but if I wanted a chuunin’s opinion, I’d ask Ino.” Sakura flushes, and Kai continues, “Look, all the older people are talking about how sketchy it is that  _ Uchiha Itachi  _ would do anything on a civilian’s word. Don’t pretend we’re average, Sasuke. We have common sense.”

“Everyone who joins ANBU knows it’s sketchy,” Sasuke says bluntly, and watches Sai fidget out of the corner of her eye. They’re not far from the deserted training fields, standing in a huddle. 

Hitomi shakes her head. “The two of you made a deal, and I know it,” she says, “but I had nothing to do with it. We were teammates. Screw secrecy. He—”

“We’re ANBU,” Sai says, face blank but panic edging into his voice. Even people with common sense can be naive, and ignore the evidence in front of them. “Secrets are our trade.”

Ignoring him, and ignoring Sasuke’s aggravated sigh, Hitomi continues, “What else? He’s the one who convinced Itachi into all this bullshit. I mean, your family got shoved around a lot when I was a kid, but it’s not like civilians have the kind of power to convince a Uchiha shinobi into doing anything.”

Though Sai’s face loses color, Kai isn’t surprised. “I always thought he was a worm,” she says. “Okay. So he fucked over your family. He just screwed us out of a funeral service. Can we kill Hyuga together at least? Because those were my  _ parents. _ And, Sai,” she adds, “if you even think about doing anything stupid, I will make Sasuke wipe your memory.”

“We’re not killing anyone,” Sasuke says, impatient, as Sai agrees to stay silent, and also points that Kai can’t make her Captain do anything she doesn’t want. “Okay, can we stop calling me Captain? Anyway, it’ll be a disaster if ANBU hierarchy changes right now.”

Kai throws her arms in the air and turns, facing the memorial stone. “Then we spread the news to the rest of us,” she says, hands on her hips. “Accept his missions, but make our own calls during them. It’s war. I want to trust what order I’m following.”

“That’s turning him into a puppet leader,” Sakura says, staring wide-eyed at Kai’s back. “I don’t know him, but from what I hear, he’s way too smart not to figure that out.”

Shifting his weight, Sai says, “It does not seem right distrusting our leader’s orders.”

In the far distance, the sounds of construction resume, the worker’s midday lunch break finished. Hitomi glares. “You’re seriously comfortable even just with him trying to kill her through promotion?” she asks, pointing to Sasuke, who’s too used to judgement to be insulted. “You were good, but you know what I mean.”

On her last ANBU mission, Nori still didn’t allow her out on her own. “Look,” she says. “Since my brother was never really a missing-nin, he wasn’t discharged from anything, which means he’s one of us when his probationary citizenship is cleared—”

“ _ What? _ ” Sakura says, lips parting. “I didn’t know that. How come nobody mentioned it?”

“You’re not meant to know any of us are involved,” Sai says, unhelpfully.

“Anyway,” Sasuke says, waving her hand. “Sakura’s right. Shimura-san’s too smart not to figure out that something’s up, and since Godaime-sama’s all about Itachi going through the motions to keep up trust, he’s coming back. Shimura-san will definitely notice based on everyone’s reactions when that happens.”

Shrugging, Kai says, “We’re ANBU. Our whole point is to be discreet. It’s not like we’re genin or chuunin. We aren’t even normal jounin. It’s our right to know. We won’t even kill him.”

Though Sasuke disagrees with the idea of leadership change, superseding Shimura-san’s authority doesn’t technically go against their agreement. She glances at Sai, who’s still pale, to Sakura, who’s still flushed, and says, “Not everyone. Naoko can know. Riku’s pissed right now, so he can. I don’t know who else. People who are trustworthy.”

“Well, that makes everyone who around back then,” Hitomi says before looking at Sai. “You’re new, so you don’t know anything yet. If you breathe a word of this, I will kill you. And you,” she continues to Sasuke, “should’ve spilled earlier. Kai’s right.”

Shaking her head, Sasuke says, “Whatever. I’m going to go find my brother. Kai, I’m not good enough to cast genjutsu on a whole jury, so don’t kill anyone.”

“I make no promises,” she mumbles, and when she sits cross-legged in front of the stone, shoulders hunched, Sai joins her. Hitomi places a hand on her upper back. Sakura takes Sasuke’s hand and leads her back towards the residential district, leaving them to their grief. 

 

 

Sometimes Sasuke sleeps too much. Inevitably, after a while, she stops sleeping at all.

It’s late—somewhere in the early hours of the morning, she assumes—and she lies hot and crammed onto Sakura’s bed with her old teammates, the three snuggled together tighter than they ever were on missions. Somehow, their apartment complex received no damaged, but Naruto’s and Kakashi’s were both destroyed. Rebuilding takes longer than just a few weeks, Sasuke learned years ago. Though it shouldn’t be a surprise that Kakashi currently occupies the main room sofa and Itachi her futon, as anyone sharing with either is  _ awkward _ , it is anyway. She lies there, straight as a board on the edge, and feels Naruto’s back expand and recede against hers when he breathes. Stares at the wall, at the streaks of moonlight that sneak through the thin openings in her slatted window shades. 

When Sasuke was nine, her ability to feel grew muffled for a while. Sometimes she wishes she hadn’t lost that in her first fight against Orochimaru, that apathy. In a way, it was better than this. Now her heart beats too fast, caused by an irrational panic built up from sleep deprivation. Her breathing is too shallow in direct juxtaposition of her friends’.

Then she startles, body jolting, as Naruto moves and touches her hand where it rests against her side. After a moment, when she doesn’t move away, he adjusts, arm pulled behind himself, to hold it. “Quit thinking so loud,” he says, words mumbled into his pillow. “We’re right here.”

He falls asleep again like that, hand over hers. Though their thereness wasn’t her concern, if she had a particular concern at all, she breathes easier after that and watches the moonlight shift against the pale lavender wall until morning dawns and silver streaks turns gold. 

 

 

The mug cracks along the side when it hits the floor, but doesn’t break. Even as Sasuke stills, her trembling ceasing just from shock, she manages to be thankful for that, at least. 

“Go sit down,” Itachi says. She jumps when his hand touches her back, palm between his shoulder blades. “I can finish up.”

Automatically, she says, “I can clean my own place,” but then he looks down at her with the same expression Kakashi wears when she acts like a petulant child, and she shrinks away, curling up in the chipped wooden chair beside the kitchen window. Naruto hung his black-and-orange jacket over the back, so it’s orange on orange. It clashes against her green shirt. 

As Itachi finishes the dishes, earning his temporary room and board, the apartment quiets. According to both Kaoru and Noa, the only two psychologists Sasuke’s had the displeasure of seeing, she has anxiety and panic attacks. Suna calling on her to act as a mission leader shouldn’t cause either, but then, out of sheer pettiness, Konoha made it a joint one with Kakashi as the co-captain. Itachi’s a team member, back into the field earlier than expected because the Fourth Shinobi War is escalating quickly and the best “trial run” is a mission where the two leaders can kill him, should this all be trick. Then Sakura joined, promoted to tokubetsu jounin with the excuse that medical-jutsu can replace a second nature transformation, but the same luxury was not extended to Naruto. 

“I did say I’d been your clan medic,” she said when she told he and Sasuke in training field four, where she spent the past week since returning teaching him Uchiha fire techniques and wanted to give a last minute practice before leaving. The Godaime, Sakura explained, submitted a formal recommendation, so inevitably, the newly elected Council passed her through. “Turns out you don’t even have to pay me.”

Promotion to jounin before the age of eighteen is an honor, people say. Once Sakura was gone, he asked, “Why haven’t  _ you  _ recommended me? You’re a jounin. You totally can.”

“People don’t care what I have to say,” Sasuke said rather than admit the idea hadn’t occurred to her. She hadn’t thought about it for Sakura, either. Being a jounin isn’t like being a chuunin; it involves a certain mentality neither of them have, but Sakura is still better prepared. “Maybe if you did, Jiraiya or Kakashi would’ve.”

“You got Itachi back into the village. Everyone care what you have to say.”

“Hey, don’t blame this on me.”

He kicked a rock hard enough it skipped across the lake’s flat surface three times before sinking. “You don’t get what it’s like,” he said, sullen even with the sun shining and robins chirping in the treetops, “to keep being dead last.”

Hours later, she’s dropped a mug while scrambling to finish the cleaning before leaving, still recovering from her friend expecting too much from her, and from her own short temper. “Obviously I don’t,” she said, there on the lakeside of training field four where they first became friends at twelve, even though she didn’t know how to form interpersonal connections at the time. Her emotional control has consistently failed her since September. “I thought we already established I’m not like you.”

“I just don’t even get it,” she says now, sitting in her orange chair with his jacket pressing in her arm and her knees pulled to her chest, staring across the living room to the opposite wall where the string lights are plugged in. “Why he wants to be one, I mean. It’s an honor or whatever. Sure. But, I mean. It’s ridiculous. He’s Naruto. It puts a target on your back. You have to kill people. He’s a chuunin and still hasn’t done that.”

Itachi doesn’t answer right away, carefully slipping a plate into the drying rack. “We’re all told from a young age,” he says finally, “to strive to be better and better to best serve the village. I think most realize it’s all a lie eventually, but only once they’ve gone far enough.”

When Sasuke realized the idea of loyal service was a lie, she was twelve. “Well, we all do our part,” she says, fingers digging into her knees. She’s still unsteady, shaking again in the shoulders. “His version of dealing with the casualties was just leaving for a week to learn something he already learned. That’s not—coping. I  _ handled  _ becoming a jounin because of some political move, you know? And I handled watching my teammates die and getting signed into ANBU and returning home and everyone dying. He’s the son of the  _ Yondaime.  _ That’ll all go out in the open if he gets known at all. I don’t even get why he wants that kind of risk. He wants have renown and all, but there’s no way he can handle all the bullshit that comes with it when he’s not even prepared for the tradition requirements.”

“From what I’ve manage to gather,” Itachi says, turning away from the sink, leaning back against the counter, “he was away for a while after being promoted in a very short amount of time to chuunin. There’s an emotional learning curve that he missed. It’s not necessarily a bad thing.” Sighing, he continues, “You were right when you said I can’t really lecture you, Sasuke, but I hope you accept me saying that having any to handle any one of those is out of the ordinary. You may not have been able to if it weren’t for me. Trauma makes it easier to cope with trauma.”

“That’s not fair,” she says, though it’s it’s likely true. The Tsukuyomi made her more susceptible to other genjutsu when her access to the Sharingan was blocked, but the massacre and its effect were not contained to a single night. In a way, the night of it wasn’t even the worst. It was every day that followed, when she was alone, pitied, and judged. 

With a twitch that might be a shrug, Itachi says, “Fairness doesn’t matter, ultimately. We both could have grown up very differently if I realized there were other options. Our family was angry, but entirely reasonable when presented with logic. It wasn’t even a real movement until someone took Shisui’s eyes. That’s when he killed himself.”

Some of the anxiety subsides, replaced with confusion. She turns to him, frowning. “You mean that didn’t happen after?” she says. “I assumed it did.” 

“It happened before,” Itachi says, folding his arms, shifting his weight. Neither of them are comfortable discussing the massacre. “Everything went on very quickly after that, like he predicted it would. I don’t know who started it, but I believe our parents just became swept up in it. They weren’t the type, or at the very least they never would’ve intentionally put us in danger.”

Slouching, leaning forward onto her knees, she says, “Yeah. I remember they were disappointed a lot, but they didn’t even want you and Shisui in the chuunin exams. Mom would’ve found some way to kick Shimura-san out of Konoha for putting both us into ANBU.”

“It certainly would’ve been a sight,” he says and, after a moment, continues, “Are you worrying less for Sakura because her parents can lecture her on bad decisionmaking? You may be higher ranking than both of them, but they’re still your friends. You might have to leave them to learn their life lessons on their own. It’s only causing you stress.”

Though stress is inevitable in the life of a kunoichi, Sasuke is meant to be avoiding it. Regardless, she’s allowed to worry, and Itachi is hypocritical to tell her otherwise. She doesn’t tell him that she’s this anxious from her own reaction to the fight as well as her friend’s, because she hasn’t slept more than a few hours since she returned with her ANBU team, and her main substance of consumption has been coffee. When she’s in Suna, she’ll be better. Suna has Temari and her brothers rather than a newly built memorial stone, finished before the reconstruction of the Hokage’s tower. Nori’s name is third down on the second column. Iruka’s is the fourth to last in the fifth. In Suna, she manage to avert a disaster instead of cause one. 

She runs her fingers through her hair, which is growing out again to a length she doesn’t like and frizzing from the early May humidity. “Neither of them are that careful,” she says, though Sakura is, and always has been, more cautious than Sasuke or Naruto ever are. “Sure, whatever. They can learn their life lessons. I just don’t want to have to explain to Jiraiya and Sakura’s parents that their technical godson and actual goddaughter are dead when they go get themselves killed through self-sacrifice. At least the Godaime cured you, and Kakashi’s the best in the village. You two will survive anything.”

“I won’t promise it isn’t going to happen to them one day,” her brother says, “but few of us die of old age. And never assume anyone will survive anything, Sasuke. There’s always someone better.”

When she was thirteen and Kabuto killed her teammates, the Godaime called death an occupational hazard. “That person might be Shimura-san,” Sasuke says, legs slipping from the chair as moves her arms, curling her fingers around the edge. “Suppose you should know now that you’re reinstated. Hitomi knows the truth—”

“You’re teammates with Hitomi? Lion?”

“Yeah,” she says. “She’s the best. I had to tell her and Nori so I could back to Konoha. Anyway, she spilled to Kai and Sai, who told a few other people—”

“ _ What? _ ”

She waves her hand. “Anyway,” she says, calmer now. Though they’re discussing a direct violation of authoritative hierarchy, she feels more certain of the situation than the potential survival of her friends. “No one’s calling for a leadership change or anything. Or, well. Kai was for a minute, but. That’s not the point. We’re going to take his assignments but follow his own orders. If he catches on, he’ll blame me, but whatever. Maybe that’ll take a while.”

Itachi takes a deep breath, exhales, and looks away. “I don’t believe your teammates are the ones to worry about,” he says. 

Annoyed, she says, “Thanks for the help,” and ends the discussion before it escalate into her second argument of the day. 

 

 

Though Suna is at war, it isn’t their war, so the mood within the intact village is more lighthearted than Konoha. “We’re going to be exhausted tomorrow,” Sasuke says Saturday night, the day she arrives, the day before they leave, as her friend pulls her by the hands from the fountain’s edge where she sits between Itachi and Sakura. “This is a terrible idea, Temari.”

“You’ve been in Konoha way too long,” Temari says, dragging Sasuke into the crowd of dancers that emerges every weekend night once the dry season begins, “if you seriously think this is a bad idea.”

The music is atrocious, different melodies and lyrics spilling from the restaurants that surround the square, and the band playing near main road to the market not very good, but it doesn’t matter much. As Temari spins her, Sasuke sees her Konoha team—Naruto there, included in the mission at her guilt ridden insistence—stare her in confusion. “I haven’t had enough alcohol to think it’s a good one,” she says, falling back into step with her friend, knowing the usual dance after hours of tipsy practice in the Kazekage’s suite’s living room last June. 

In Konoha, she wears kimono to festivals and ceremonies, but she doesn’t wear dresses. The one a Suna Council member bought her months ago as a Midsummer’s present floats around her knees, the blue fabric light and the skirt to her knees to hide the scars Gaara left on her thigh during the chuunin exam. Moonlight falls over the square brighter than a spotlight, unobscured by clouds, turning Temari’s white dress silver. Spending the night before a mission that she’s leading dancing is a terrible idea, but it’s made worse with the knowledge that she’s in plain view of her Konoha team. No, she definitely has not had enough alcohol for this. 

“Is Team Seven making you nervous?” Temari asks, moving Sasuke away and away until they’re at the periphery, far out of eyesight, but still moving. Every step seems to say,  _ Lighten up.  _ “I thought you’d like getting them. Go dance with a boy. I’ll get Naruto and make Kankuro get Sakura, and we’ll make them to have fun.”

In Konoha, her teammates are more likely to enjoy a party than she is. She also hasn’t danced with anyone other than Temari or Kankuro since September. “You’re abandoning me for my team?” she says, though it sounds forced. “I’m offended.”

Laughing, Temari says, “No, you aren’t,” and then pushes Sasuke towards Hatsu Takuma, a boy she once helped with his bo kata, as he steps into the circle looking for a partner. 

Kakashi calls team curfew at ten, which Naruto and Sakura find normal and Itachi thinks is incredulous. As they trudge off towards the inn, Sasuke the Suna-nin, who has her own room and clothes and mission reports in the village archives, stays with roommates until midnight, so that her feet hurt in their soft shoes and they fall into argument over scallion pancakes or okonomiyaki that won’t leave her shaking come morning. 

 

 

The Suna-Konoha joint team tracks Iwa-nin causing trouble to the bushlands in the northwest Land of Wind. Again, the enemy force is larger than anticipated, but they aren’t ANBU. Even a eighteen man force can’t save them if they lack the skill set.

Where they’re camped isn’t terribly subtle, because they intelligently monopolized the top of the only plateau for miles, giving themselves the high ground advantage. “We need to attack at night,” Kakashi says once the team’s all settles under a natural awning of a tall bush thicket. “It doesn’t look as though they’re going anywhere today.”

Someone’s cooking more than flavorless, instant ramen, and their weapons catch the sunlight, glinting in disorganized piles. Even if they aren’t planning any attack, they’ll see anyone who tries to approach in daylight. Sasuke tucks her hair behind her ear, blinking dust from eyes as the breeze sweeps the dirt in their direction, and says, “You and I can camouflage. Itachi?”

“Average Iwa-nin do love that attack,” he says. For the first time in nearly twelve years, he’s wearing a Konoha forehead protector without a line through the center. “It’s impossible not to pick up eventually.”

Though Sasuke taught her ANBU team, she never bothered with Naruto and Sakura, nor Temari and Kankuro. It’s not terribly difficult. It just hadn’t seemed important. “We’ll start the attack,” she says, looking from Itachi to Kakashi, whose nose keeps twitching beneath his mask. Sometimes even that isn’t enough to filter dust, and this area is worse than anywhere near Konoha. “Take out the guards and as many as we can before they catch on.”

“That’s three people against eighteen,” Sakura says, and bites her inside cheek so it caves in before saying, “Okay, I know you’re all good, but shouldn’t there be a distraction or something?”

Sasuke relies on distractions more often than she’d like, but that’s for more basic missions traditionally. “We’re not using a distraction,” she says. 

“The objective isn’t to finish them off ourselves,” Kakashi says. He’s used to giving explanation while she gives few and expects very little little information in return. “We just need to even out the numbers. No one leave here until the guards are dead.”

“If there’s no wind blowing,” Sasuke says as the wind blows, “then someone up there’s probably smart enough to notice this moving on its own. It’s still hidden from view from the south side. Temari can create something artificial for the area.”

That decides it, and they settle down for the afternoon for a meal of sweet potato buns and water. Jittery from sleeplessness and the stress of having her two teams together, Sasuke snacks on a nutrient bar and calls it dinner. 

Around dusk, the Iwa-nin light two fires and drift apart. By nightfall, two are left. Two hours later, three remain, all posted alone in a triangle formation at strategic points of the plateau, watching for intruders. Not long after, Sasuke, Kakashi, and Itachi each sneak towards a guard, Sharingan activated to see each other. As Kakashi took the guard on the far end, he reaches the top last and in the meanwhile, Sasuke waits just outside of arm’s length from her target, watching her brother in his Konoha jounin stand at the edge on the opposite side. The wind doesn’t blow below, real or artificial, leaving the plateau and land around it is quiet. 

The three guards die in that silence, their throats simultaneously slit and then their bodies rolled down the gentle slopes. Below, the rest of the team creeps from the bush, various bright shades of hair and the impractical metal of the village forehead protectors glowing in the moonlight. Ignoring them, Sasuke steps into the nearest tent, and kills the two occupants in their sleep. The plan’s to start in the perimeter and move inward. Even when she made it, she hadn’t thought it would work. 

Right when she’s about to kill the second occupant of second tent, a man suddenly shouts, followed by another, and someone says, “Who’s there? Is that you, Shiro, you fucking pervert?”

Drowsily, the tent’s second occupant opens his eyes, his first sight upon waking his teammate’s bloodied corpse. Recovering from her surprise, she slips her hand over his mouth before he can scream and pushes her kunai so deep into his back she can’t pull it free.

“Go the  _ fuck  _ to sleep, Michi,” a woman says from across the plateau as Sasuke slips from her tent and Kakashi from his. The rest of the team climbs over the edge, their pale hair turning them into ghostly figures in their dark as a spattering mixture of exhausted laughter and shouted innuendos passes through the camp.

A man emerges from the tent to Sasuke’s left, stumbling in exhaustion, fingers fumbling with his pants’ drawstring. When he sees Kankuro just feet away, illuminated in the firelight with his puppet like a living shadow, his eyes widen and his mouth opens to call out—but too quickly for that, Sakura stops his heart with a push of her hand against his back. In a moment, he crumbles. She catches him before he falls, her significantly shorter body sagging under the weight of his taller one. In the dying campfire light, his skin looks the same color as the dry season dirt. 

Quietly, she lays him down on the coarse grass, unmarked so he might be sleeping, and nods to Kankuro. No one else is out. Then an Iwa-nin screams shrilly and runs from his tent, tripping over the flap and waking the few left. Before she makes it far, Kankuro wraps a chakra string wrapped around her neck and whispers in her ear. Sasuke slips inside the closest tent, soundless, as the woman says, “Sorry, guys. Just a spider.”

The two men are awake and suspicious, standing and collecting their closest weapons. Simultaneously, she kills the dark haired one on her left with a close range bolt of lighting, and stabs the blonde on her right with a narrow dagger she stole from the top of the weapon pile just outside. Missions like this don’t call for much creativity. 

By the time she ducks out, camouflage jutsu dropped, their mission’s complete. It’s night, so it’s cooler than the daytime, but none of them had much to drink today; someone raided the encampment food stores, and the team passes around unused tin cups and a water canteens. Itachi has a sunburn on the back of his neck, visible even in the firelight. Sakura burned her nose. Somehow, Sasuke escaped with only mild irritation.

They decide to camp below for the night. Already, Naruto’s face is white in the aftermath of his first kill, and Sasuke nods off where she stands. Next morning they can leave—back to Suna, back to more combat, back home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm estimating 2 to 3 more chapters. Several people have asked for another story, so I might well put it to you guys - should I continue this through a sequel or alternate universe (of an already altered universe)? I'm open to suggestions (or demands that I stop).


	15. Chapter 15

Now that Sasuke’s a co-captain, she needs to complete a Renewal of Service Form for the ANBU. Godaime passes the clipboard with the papers to her the moment she and Team Seven return, citing the reason that she should have done this the moment she was promoted.

The form is nearly identical to the one she filled out to join. On the front three pages, it asks for basic information, and then a outlines the first three sections of the terms and conditions. She scribbles the required information without much thought. Name, Uchiha Sasuke. DOB, 23/07/086. Address, 200 - 4 Hinode Street, APT Y27, Konoha, LF. Height, 5 ft, 2 in. Weight (find min. - max. on chart below), 121lbs (Sasuke is one hundred and nine pounds, making her eleven below the minimum for her height, but no one needs to know). Does she verify that all the information is correct? Sign and date below— _Uchiha Sasuke_ , _16/05/101._

Question 1 of the nearly identical questionnaire asks, _Do you have a kekkei genkai?_ , to which she checks _Yes_ , and in the space that reads, _Include which below_ , writes, _Mangekyo Sharingan & Rinnegan. _ To Question 2, which reads, _Are you at least fifteen (minimum age of captaincy, enacted in the Uchiha Act of 93_ )?, she checks _Yes_ , and checks _No_ for Question 7, which asks, _Have you ever been placed on probation for ordinary and/or jounin service?_ Her hour long probation never officially went on her record, to Kaoru’s immense disappointment. Presumably also to her psychologist’s immense disappointment, Sasuke still checks _No_ for Question 20, the final question in Section 1, which reads, _Are you easily susceptible to genjutsu?_

Even members of the Uchiha clan, when blocked from Sharingan access, are not immune, as the Godaime reminded her more than once.

Section 2 is a direct mental health assessment, which is different than the joining form, where had all the questions were done together. Question 1 is, _Have you ever been psychologically evaluated and if so, how long?_ , so she marks _Yes_ and reluctantly circles, _Ongoing._ Directly below reads, _Have you witnessed the death of a team member?_ followed by Question 3: _Have you ever witnessed the death of a family member?_ She checks _Yes_ for both, cautiously checks _No_ for Question 4, which reads, _Have you ever witnessed the death of a former captain?_ (Did Sagi count? Probably, but that was a while ago), and then marks _Yes_ for both Question 7 and Question 10, which say, _Have you ever been held in enemy territory against your will?_ and _Have you ever been raped and/or sexually assaulted?_ , respectively. They both ask, when, if so. _08/100_ , she writes. It was only eight months ago. It feels longer.

To Question 11, which asks, _Have you ever been psychologically tortured, and if so, when?_ , she dates _08/100_ and _02/097._ She doesn’t include the night of massacre.

Though she promised the Godaime honesty, the last few are half-truths—no, she does not consume illegal substances (a question that includes alcohol for those underage, but she _is_ of legal drinking age in Suna), yes, she maintains the recommended ANBU diet, and yes, she sleeps between six to eight hours inside Konoha’s walls. No, she’s never been suspected of treason against the village ( _technically_ ). Yes, she’s willing to submit to drug testing if asked, which is true (ANBU members have a record of substance abuse, but the thought hasn’t crossed her mind). Does she verify all information above is correct? Sight and date below.

_Uchiha Sasuke, 16/05/101._

The final step is an updated picture, since the original came from her chuunin promotion and is now too old. As far as the photographer knows, the picture is necessary because she developed the Rinnegan, and Konoha likes their records accurate. “You’re the second one today to wear black,” he says, frowning, as she takes her place in front of the plain white wall, arms tucked behind her back. Ordinary jounin wear green or tan. Whoever the first person was must have also been ANBU.

“Oh, it’s in the laundry,” she says, shaking her head to move her hair from her face, and then smiles her best so he doesn’t question the coincidence further.

Without warning, he snaps the picture, and refuses to retake it. There’s war going on, she just admitted to being raped on a Renewal of Service Form, and now she’s smiling in her new picture for ANBU captaincy. What a fucking joke, she thinks, but leaves without a fight when he calls for his next victim.

 

 

Konoha isn’t equipped to see the Land of Fire turned into a front, so they bring the war to their aggressors’ territories—the Lands of Earth and Water. The old Sound, now also trapped in their own civil war. Of course, the smaller countries, both adversaries and allies, are involved, which means the northern front stretches nearly from coast to coast.

“You’re going to kill yourself,” Badger says when Sasuke reunites with her ANBU team in mid-June in the Land of Hot Water for Itachi’s first masked mission since his return. “Even we’ve gotten to go home.”

On the day after Sasuke completed her Renewal of Service Form, she and Hitomi left for a two man scout-and-burn to Land of Waves. After two days there, she received word that Kumo demanded a member of a clan to act as a diplomat, so as the best combatant remaining now that Neji’s dead, she left less than a week later. Then, while there, Konoha called her _back_ to the Land of Fire’s coast to help fortify a predominantly chuunin defensive line, where they faced an attack on the first day, and _while there_ , her Suna team demanded her for a direct assault on Ame. Then, _while there_ , fucking of course Shimura-san wrote asking for her presence in the Land of Grass, where her ANBU team lead a surprise attack against invading Iwa-nin. It’s been like that since the war started, her running across the north from team to team, barely sleeping or eating, and hardly ever seeing properly for more than a couple of days at a time.

Meanwhile, Tsunade promoted Naruto to jounin in a rush, now that he’s “proficient in fire,” though he realistically only half-mastered one technique. The Academy held a graduation early, so that they have bodies to guard the village walls while the higher level shinobi spend their time rushing in and out. From what Sasuke’s heard, it’s about the same everywhere.

Now she’s here, in a Land of Hot Water forest near the treeline, overlooking a rice paddy with her mask pushed to her nose so she can drink. “I’ll survive,” she says, leaning back against a tree. It’s blisteringly hot, the air sticky and smelling of rain. The sky’s overcast. To cool down, she’s rolled her pants to her knees and stripped to the camisole she always wears beneath her shirt as a paranoid precaution. “Everyone, meet Weasel. Or re-meet Weasel.”

“Hey,” Hitomi says, raising her hair in greeting. She has her impractically long hair piled up, and is just as dressed down as Sasuke and Kai, who’s stripped to her wrap and shorts. “You’re taller than me. Who knew?”

Itachi shrugs, and falls into himself, though his discomfort may not be noticeable to the others. “Well,” he says. “It has been a while. It’s very nice to meet the rest of you.”

Politely, but not warmly, Sai says, “It’s very nice to meet you as well,” and resumes drawing a strategic map transposed over one clearly bought or stolen at a roadside stall.

“I left for a while,” Riku says, crossing his arms and leaning against the tree beside Sasuke so she needs to inch away. “I used to be Sparrow, but they gave it to someone else. If the Captain didn’t tell you.” Unfortunately, Naoko isn’t here for the mission. Team Mouse, who’s located in the Land of Waves, needed her specialization.

“She didn’t,” Itachi says, and after Sasuke adds that neither Rooster nor Sparrow mentioned it, so it’s not as though she knew, her brother continues, “It’s good to see you again. I hear that I’m to expect...spontaneity.”

Kai, as she tosses Sasuke a nutrient bar, says, “Yeah. We were waiting for Fox to make up a plan. Nice to meet you, Weasel. Shame Fox didn’t tell us your mask’d gone missing earlier. Want one?”

Before her brother can answer, she hands him her own, knowing he’ll refuse one from habit. “Strawberry’s the only acceptable flavor,” she says as an excuse, but Kai says there is no strawberry, and gives her revolting blueberry instead. “Seriously? Not even almond?”

“Hey, stay on topic,” Hitomi says, hands moving to her waist as they always do when she’s angry or taking charge. Though it’s noon and the middle of the work day, the rice paddy’s deserted, a feature of the landscape Sasuke notices on a delay. “We know a Kiri unit—a big one—has taken over the village houses past the fields. They’ve got some local allies in there, but no one important. It’s mostly jounin. You know the drill. What’s interesting is that they’ve got a hunter-nin general leading them directly. Our orders are to take him in alive.”

Even Sai, who still has a lingering form of loyalty to the traditional ANBU system, doesn’t argue that this is a smart plan. At the moment, they aren’t too far from the Land of Fire. Enemy effort to enter will double if they take someone alive, and killing a general will temporarily rid the unit of their organization. More than that, Sasuke’s team is equally designed for scout-and-burns and interrogations.

She moves away from the tree, the uneven bark leaving imprints on her scarred right arm, and says, “I’m guessing from the map we know where he is. Badger and I can handle it.”

Knowing Itachi, he must hate this plan already, but his position is still too uncertain to argue for humanity over logic. At least Nori would appreciate it, Sasuke thinks. He liked to avoid untidiness.

“Do we know what information we’re looking for?” her brother asks, posture relaxed but voice tense.

As Sai turns around the map to face upward, showing them his work, he says, “Rooster overheard mention of a second encampment that we believe is located here. I’ve indicated it with this arrow.”

Hitomi points to the northwestern coast of the Land of Water, right where the capital city is located. “Supposedly,” she says, “there’s a Council meeting in Mitsutoshi some day soon. It’s going to be as protected as Kiri in the days leading up to it and day of, obviously, but if there’s even a chance we can take out some of them on the way there, we have to. A general’s going to know the details.”

“But there are two problems,” Kai says, shifting her stance so she’s angled towards Sasuke. “It turns out ‘Team Farmland’ has such a high bounty even individually that it’s almost like someone knows who we are.”

Under his breath, Rooster says, “And it’s insulting,” but the complaint’s overlapped when Hitomi adds, “Basically, we have to cool it with the more visible specialty attacks. Cat and Fox have a lot. I’m sure you have your fair share, Weasel.”

Without the ability to make noticeable eye contact, they need to address each other directly more frequently than they do in everyday life. Itachi agrees that he does, and asks, “And the second issue?”

“We suspect Kiri has recruited leftover Oto-nin,” Sai answers, standing and passing the map to Hitomi. “Actually, we are rather certain. We just uncertain if they’re involved in the unit hidden in the village.”

No one says it, but Sasuke understands the implication—they can’t know until it happens what the result will be if she encounters an Oto-nin directly. “Well,” she says, her discomfort more noticeable to her team than her brother’s ever will be. “I guess we’ll hope for the best.”

“Hey,” Kai says, suddenly a little too cheerful. “At least nothing that happens is as embarrassing as smiling in your official ANBU photo.”

Itachi makes a startled noise nearing a laugh as Sasuke frowns behind the privacy of her mask. Before she can answer, though, Sai says, “Correction. Nothing will be as embarrassing as Team Farmland. Clearly, it means that Lion, as a lioness, is mistaken as a second cat.”

Collectively, they’re two cats, a rooster, a badger, a fox, a weasel, and usually a sparrow. As insulting as the name is, at least it’s accurate, but if the others aren’t going to acknowledge that, then Sasuke won’t, either. Instead she agrees with Lion that the mistake is bullshit, and quickly finishes her snack bar lunch before preparing for their nighttime attack.

 

 

The answer to what will happen when Sasuke encounters an Oto-nin is that she reacts with basic panic and an inability to kill her opponent.

For a moment, when she’s pinned beneath his weight, back to damp ground and her shirt ridden up to the end of her wrap, she falls out of the present. Her Sharingan can’t activate. There’s a phantom hand across her throat, and a wet, slippery tongue against her neck. The air smells like a recently dug grave. They’re all alone in the darkness, and around them is soundless.

Then, abruptly—birds chirp, impossibly loud, and the weight falls away, only for a hand to touch her waist, and—she’s thirteen and the ground’s wet, and two girls are dead, dead, dead, and Kabuto damaged her optic nerve, but—really she’s out, fifteen, dying, blind, someone on her ankle dragging her back, and—

Kakashi’s voice floats in, thin and distant, saying, “Come on, come on, it’s just me. Calm down, come back. Shit, what did Tsunade _do_ to her,” and she snaps back to find herself sitting in a shallow riverbed twenty miles outside of Shimo in late June, her old sensei curled around her, her eyes firmly shut. “No, don’t move,” he says when she goes to look up, because he has her head pressed into his shoulder. “Eyes closed, Sasuke— _hey,_ you’re fifteen, you’re in the Land of Frost, and it’s June. I’m just Kakashi. Stay with me.”

Far, far away, past the dull layer of his voice, a hand touches the hemline at her back, right over the ridges of her spine so that her skin sparks. “Concentrate,” he’s saying, tugging her up, telling her to keep her eyes closed, that it’s only him, but his hand is in her hair, and—she feels in the same distant way she hears his voice or feels the blood sticking to her chest, the way she stumbles backward across the water and onto dry land, nearly tripping over his feet. Someone’s laughing, the sound hysterical, going on about getting her good, and he talks and talks, trying to pull her back.

“Stay in the fight,” he says louder, beyond her, as he pushes her down against a tree that scrapes her back. “You’ll make it worse— _eyes closed, Sasuke._ ” It’s Itachi, she thinks coherently in the moment that pain jars her, but—her conception of time burns black fire hot, the August breeze is carries a graveyard silence and blood—Kakashi has his hands on either side of her face to hold her still, calling for Sakura or Naruto. “We’re almost done,” he saying. “Sakura’s right here. Keep breathing. Don’t open your eyes.”

Sasuke doesn’t know how long the fight lasts. She spends it against that tree with her legs to her chest and her hands to her knees, eyes pressed into her palms. All the while, Sakura tells her to breathe and stay blind, right there and still so very, very far away.

 

 

“What was that?” Kakashi asks, hours later, as Sasuke returns from cleaning away the Oto-nin’s blood from her clothes and chest. The mission’s done, and they’re camped in an abandoned farmhouse five miles away for the night before she leaves for the Land of Water in the morning. “I expected a flashback, but I thought the genjutsu was removed.”

It takes her a moment to realize he’s addressing Sakura. “Strictly speaking?” she says, eyes feverishly bright in the firelight where she sits curled in a soft armchair, hands gripping her knees. When Naruto passes Sasuke a throw blanket, she mumbles a thank you, and settles next to Kakashi, wrapping it around her shoulders. Even in summer, nights this far north are cold. “Um. Tsunade-sama reversed the focus. Suppressing it earlier made it pretty much impossible to remove, but us and other villages started a full assault the moment the news Kabuto was dead got out, so it didn’t seem important.”

There’s a brief moment of unsettling silence where even Naruto ceases fidgeting, before Itachi says, “That’s a form of torture.”

As Sasuke feels herself pale, Naruto asks how, when Tsunade made her trust the right people again. Though she knows interrogative techniques, she never learned torture, so Kakashi answers for her, “Konoha doesn’t do it, so you wouldn’t know about it. Yeah, Sasuke’s one of us already, so I’m sure it was easier, but reversing loyalties was a torture technique Iwa used in the Third War to make high level shinobi attack their own side.”

“The old government in Amegakure used a similar technique during their civil war,” Itachi says, gaze focused on the fire. This room was cozy once, but now it’s unwelcoming to its intruders. There are too many shadows in dark corners, and the discussion too heavy for dusk. “I’ve never met anyone it’s happened to, but from what I hear, it doesn’t work effectively.”

“Wait, I don’t get it,” Naruto says, frowning. “If it’s a reversal or whatever, how come you were still okay doing all that stuff with Shimura Danzo and the Council?”

“Maybe because she already knew he was a traitor,” Sakura says, hands slipping to grasp at her ankles. “Maybe because the original genjutsu never really worked all the way.”

Since September, Sasuke’s grown “erratic,” said Kaoru. Though she chose Itachi over Konoha, realistically the only people she betrayed were already guilty of treason. “Is that why I feel safe inside the village all of the sudden?” she asks, looking to her teammate. She’s uncomfortable even within the walls of unlocked doors or windows, but that’s true of everywhere. For the most part, she feels safer in Konoha than she has in years. “It’s all artificial?”

“What?” Sakura says, brows drawing in. “You mean you didn’t already?”

“Why would I?” Sasuke says. “I—sorry, Itachi—I’ve been consistently screwed with inside of Konoha since I was seven, Sakura. Why do you think I’m so much better in Suna? I’ve been back on my property twice now and haven’t felt anything. The whole reason I left was because I was too freaked out.”

As Itachi says, “I did wonder,” Naruto asks, “Why didn’t anyone say anything? This sounds bad.”

Sakura shrugs, and curls up further, making herself small. “It didn’t seem important,” she says again. “There weren’t that many Oto-nin, and then the ones who were left got stuck in their own civil war. At first, there was a chance even knowing about it could reverse it back.”

“This is ridiculous,” Sasuke says. “It’s dangerous. So the three of you can probably survive electrocution, and Kakashi’s definitely can, but what if I was with a different team? The only reason Riku didn’t die last time he got caught was because he was mostly on dry land.”

Back there, in the stream, when she didn’t realize that Kakashi was Kakashi, she nearly activated a full body Chidori. The surrounding riverbed where the fight was located was damp and riddled with puddles forming their own small creeks. One surge of electricity would have damaged everyone but the two of them.

Looking away towards the fire, Sakura says, “I know. It was my fault. If I’d known how to remove it directly instead of just suppressing the effects, Tsunade-sama could’ve done it herself in like in an hour with you awake. That’s why she knocked you out. To make it less painful.”

“Who else knows about this?” Sasuke asks. “Does Shimura know? My psychologist? Is that why I’m still stuck seeing her?”

“I only know because she had to ask what I did,” Sakura answers. “I don’t think anyone else does. You’re stuck seeing her because you failed your psych eval, Sasuke. Changing the focus from Konoha didn’t just make—”

Kakashi rubs the bridge of his nose and says, “Okay. So Tsunade reversed the focus. Now that enough time’s passed and Sasuke knows, what’s the likelihood she’ll do this again?”

Eyes wide, she shrugs, and says, “I don’t know.”

“Great,” Sasuke says, bunching her pants at her knees with her fingers. “I’ll make sure to warn the others in the Land of _Water_ that I might be a liability, and kill them all.” She doesn’t mention that ‘Konoha’s Fox’ is one of Kiri’s most desired targets. If she reacts like this again, she’s dead.

Naruto jerks his head up, looking from his long-cooled tea to Sasuke. “Wait,” he says. “We know there are Oto-nin around, and you’re still going out there?”

“I can’t just back out,” she says, though they all know she’s leaving this mission early to work a less official one. Delivering the information the Kiri general gave her and Kai to Konoha, only to wait for them to be processed into orders and to bring those orders back, would take two weeks at the very least. Instead, they decided to initiate this on their own. “I guess I’ll just shut my eyes. Anyway, I’m going to bed.”

Since all of them leaving their secondary teams at once is conspicuous, the only ones involved are Sasuke, Kai, Sai, and Hitomi. As Sasuke stands, unable to handle the conversation any longer than necessary, she’s relieved that Itachi, at least, doesn’t invite himself along.

 

 

Two days before Kiri’s Council meeting, Tachibana Setsu walks into Mitsutoshi three steps behind her charge with a bandage badly wrapped around her damaged left eye and their attacker thrown over her back.

Hayashi Goro, a retired shinobi turned civilian Council at the age of sixty-three, calls this new, unheard of jounin the only reason he survived when the Prime Minister’s Security Officer asks for a statement. Not long after, Nakano Takashi confesses to conspiring with select other Kiri-nin to murder their Councilmen in an effort to end the war. Already, the leading security sent out a small party to collect the bodies of Hayashi-san’s other two guards, where they’ll find evidence of Nakano’s signature attacks. They’re the second like this to enter, a jounin tells Setsu, bringing her coffee in the Prime Minister’s waiting room. The others didn’t bring back the traitor, but their charge and two guards survived—or currently survive, anyway, since the younger one is in a coma with an undefinable cause.

Then the jounin says everything will be all right, if Tachibana-san wants to go to hospital and have her eye examined.

A medical-nin examines her alone, and it isn’t difficult to trick the man into writing a report that her eye is damaged, but will heal, so long as she keeps it covered. “You did a brave thing,” he says when he fixes a new bandage over the left side of her face. “I don’t know if you know the other girl who came in, but she’s three doors down if you want to see her. Koizuma Kita. That’s her name. I think. Her captain’s probably still with her.”

By now, it’s just midday. It’s not until nightfall, after visiting Kai where she lies prone on a hospital bed with her short blonde hair splayed across the pillow and her conscience far away, that Sasuke can shed Setsu. “Do you know how long she can stay like that?” she says, leaning against the bunk bed ladder, voice low on the off chance anyone might be listening. “Getting whatshisname alone is going to be harder than I thought.”

Hitomi pulls out her holder and fluffs her curls with her fingers to help the rainwater dry. “It’s Abe Honda,” she says, and sets about undoing the lacings on her boots. Traditionally, team members share hostel rooms with team members, but with limited space and as a result of circumstance, the two of them are together. The area is so small it hardly fits one person, let alone two. “Apparently he’s got a wife, daughter, and a maid he’s screwing. Her max is forty-eight hours, last she checked. If you can’t, it’s fine. Hayashi is more important, and he’ll be here longer. You’re sure this can’t be traced back to you?”

Shaking her head, Sasuke says, “I was careful. Incapacitated everyone first, then dragged out the fight with Nakano. No one’s going to find the bodies, right?” To be certain remaining two guards appeared like Nakano killed them, she had to learn the way his techniques first. Convincing him that did commit the murders and organized a dual attack was easier than it should have been. Realistically, jounin should have better mental fortitude. At least Hayashi’s retired.

“Sai dealt with it,” Hitomi says. “Turns out ink birds can carry human bodies a pretty far distance. Do you think you can still get him in?”

Unlike Kiri, or any Hidden Village, Mitsutoshi isn’t walled, but there are checkpoints and guards within and around the city patrolling for enemy-nin. “It shouldn’t be that hard,” Sasuke says. “There’ll be a chakra flare when I use the Rinnegan, but people have been walking on walls and over puddles all days.”

Hitomi nods. “Right.” Then she sighs, and adds, “He’s got no sense of subtlety. If he has to lie about anything—well. You’re doing a better job than I thought.”

“Thanks,” Sasuke says dryly, though she knows she’s the first ANBU Captain ever promoted without an undercover mission in her list of credentials. “If everything goes as planned, no one will even notice him. Do we know where Abe’s staying?”

“No. They rushed me out before I heard.”

Finding a Councilman in Mitsutoshi shouldn’t be difficult. Even if he’s guarded, she can corner him, have her teammate leave his body, and cast a strong enough genjutsu to turn him into a second ally. Running her fingers through her hair, she says, “I’ll check it out after I get in Sai. I just hope he finishes as fast as he says he can.”

“He draws anatomically connect animals in like a minute,” Hitomi says, eyebrow raised. “Pretty sure he can copy a few maps. Anyway, I’m sure they’ll want to talk to us in the morning again, so don’t be late.”

“Hey, I helped make this plan,” Sasuke says. “You don’t need to worry about me messing it up.”

Looking away, Hitomi says, “Sorry. I guess didn’t really think it would work.”

The plan, until this point, was this: frame a Kiri-nin for a conspiracy to attack two Councilmen in order to disguise themselves as Kiri jounin and walk into the city with the same two Councilmen as their advocates. That was part one, and went smoothly. Parts two three are more complicated, relying on sneaking Sai into the city archives to find the infrastructure blueprints followed by Hitomi outing he, Kai, and Sasuke as traitors to earn a good standing with the Council. Hayashi will act as their insider now, requesting her specifically. If Sasuke can’t reach Abe by morning, then he’ll have to die.

Though they all agreed to only loosely interpret official orders, Sasuke hadn’t thought that she’d participate in an unsanctioned mission requiring the placement of her co-captain in enemy territory. “It’s fine,” Sasuke says, shifting her eyes to the Mangekyo Sharingan, readying to leave. “It’s not like I did either.”

Hitomi wishes Sasuke luck as she finds a chimney stack on the roof across the road to focus on. Then she blinks, and fades away.

 

 

A day later, Tachibana Setsu, Koizuma Kita, and an unknown young man in black join Kiri’s list of Most Wanted as traitors rather than enemy-nin, and disappear without explanation into thin air.

“I love your eyes,” Kai says, and kisses Sasuke soundly on the forehead as she undoes the bandage. “Sorry. But this is amazing. Where are we?”

Sai kneels on a grassy bank beside a clear lake undisturbed by wind, and runs his fingers across the surface, forming ripples. “This is real,” he says, lifting his hand so water droplets drip down to his palm and forearm, pooling into the crook of his elbow. Next to him, his tan pack filled with copied maps slumps against a moss covered rock. “How far did we go?”

“A step to the left,” Sasuke says. On her way to her team, she experimented with the Rinnegan to see what else it could, and learned that, like certain Mangekyo Sharingan, a person with one can walk through separate dimensions. “I’ve found a couple so far. Compasses still work, so we can travel in it towards Konoha.”

“How much chakra does this take,” Kai asks, fumbling with her pockets to find her compass, “that you don’t just sneak around in it all the time?” After nearly forty-eight in someone else’s head, she’s not moving as fast as usual, and exhaustion’s drawn her face tight.

“A lot,” Sasuke says, feeling the strain already, though she deactivated the Rinnegan the moment they were safely inside. “But it’s not that. I don’t know what I’m walking out into when I leave.”

As he stands, situating his pack over his shoulders, Sai agrees that would not be good. “Shimura-san will not be pleased with us,” he continues as Kai finds southwest and they head on their way home. For Sasuke, it’s her first time towards Konoha in six weeks. “We’re not meant to make our own decisions.”

During the past few weeks, Sasuke learned that Sai’s reluctance to break protocol or believe the worst in his leader has nothing to do with loyalty, but an obsessive need to follow the rules. “Hitomi’s going to fine,” she says carefully, knowing he doesn’t react well to uncertainty. “She’s a water user. She’ll blend in. She can get in contact with us through her racoons. Besides, no one’s going to be mad at us for putting an operative right into the Kiri government.”

“Riku’s there right now,” Kai says, glancing up from the compass. Her eyes are the same saturated blue as the sky. “Before we get into the perimeter, you should send Yaya to give him the head’s up we’re coming. Just in case.”

Yaya last went to Gaara, informing him that Sasuke is unavailable for week or so. Sasuke agrees, rubs her eyes, and walks for the next few hours in silence.

 

 

By the time Sasuke and her teammates reach Konoha, they’re all exhausted, starving, and low on chakra. “We didn’t have enough time to bring the information back,” she says, entirely too irritated, when the three of them join Shimura-san the brightly lit, thin ANBU meeting room. She can’t see very well, and knew upon arrival that going first to Godaime for medical attention was not an option, so she has the Rinnegan activated low level to help her focus. “We found out. We reacted. It worked.”

A fan spins, a low, persistent hum doing little to stave away the heat. Though there’s a table with more than enough chairs, no one sits; Sasuke stands in the middle of her teammates, all with their spines straight and arms behind their backs, while Shimura-san stares at them, exasperated, from right below the ceiling light’s glow. There are no windows, and only one double, wooden door. Her right eye is useless, but can focus on physical objects well enough through her left.

“How much time,” he says after a moment, “is not enough?”

“A week and a half, Godaime-sama,” Kai answers, shoulders twitching in an effort to stay straight. To reach here quickly, after stepping away from the second dimension, they switched off on who performed the next Shunshin, looping elbows with the other two to bring them along. “We were in the Land of Hot Water when we found out, and we all had our following missions lined up.”

Shimura-san looks to Sai, waiting for further explanation or perhaps for him to confess they forced him to follow them. “That’s all very understandable,” he says when Sai doesn’t, in the same tone he used when speaking to Sasuke when she was thirteen. “What I don’t understand is why none of you thought to use a Summons, or why Riku saw no need to mention this when he returned. There are people specifically trained for undercover work with faces much less well known than yours.”

“We already implemented the plan by the time Riku returned, Shimura-san,” Sasuke says, “and even Summoning has a response time. We had a short amount of time, and reacted accordingly. Hisakawa Hitomi is integrated as Councilman Hayashi Goro’s only guard.”

Suddenly, the fan sputter, propellers grinding in the grating, warning them of a near malfunction. After a short silence, he says, “I know that the Sharingan has a certain reputation,” more calmly, as though attempting to be soothing, “but you use yours in this way so rarely that you can never be sure illusion will stay in place. To convince a man to so completely believe a thought or memory that’s not his own that he’s lives the lie for an extended period of time takes a talent not every Uchiha can claim.”

Sasuke’s mouth twitches in an effort not to frown. Before she can think of a response, she notices both of her teammates shoulders lose their tension. He continues, “We aren’t still in the information gathering, pre-war days. It would be impossible to remove Hisakawa now without drawing too much attention, but if your team does something like this again, I’ll have to dissolve you. What a _shame_ that would be, when you’re all so compatible.”

Inevitably, there were going to be consequences for their actions, but dissolving a team with a one hundred percent success rate is extreme even for wartime. Even for two people with a relationship like theirs. For a moment, Sasuke doesn’t know how to react,. Then she thinks, _I’m not susceptible to genjutsu._

Without warning, she activates her Sharingan in full, and releases his genjutsu, freeing the others from its control. Shimura-san’s chakra signature looks like Kakashi’s when he has his activated—awkward, and combined with someone else’s. Her teammates’ eyes focus, gazes growing sharper, confusion morphing to shock to understanding. Silence falls, lacing with the heat. When Inari asked what her eyes were, Naruto said it was magic. It feels that now, the spell of them broken.

His uncovered eye widen, and she imagines he’s thinking as she thinks quickly herself, about how Shisui, the best genjutsu user her family had in generations, was missing his eyes. About how whoever broke into her property not only knew the layout, but waited until the Godaime settled into her roll.

“Did you just try to use genjutsu on us?” she says, too offended and startled too attack, as Kai looks to their teammate, jerking her head towards the hallway. In a moment, he’s out, one door banging against the other in his absence.

In her peripheral vision, she watches Kai preparing for attack. “Does he have a Sharingan under that? Is that what’s going on?” she says, wakizashi at the ready, but Shimura-san doesn’t seem concerned.

“What will you tell the village,” he says, attention on Sasuke alone, “when trust in your brother hinges on my lie?”

According to Itachi, Shisui’s suicide essentially sparked the conflict. Their clan was too reasonable to conceive that idea entirely on their own. “Oh, I don’t know,” she says. Though she doubts she’ll ever regret joining the ANBU, she won’t feel much regret in killing its leader. “I’m sure we’ll think of something.”

That ends the conversation, and, almost too fast for even the Sharingan to see, Shimura has a kunai in his hand, elongated into a full length sword constructed through wind. Kai, prepared, ducks below his attack and blocks it her own blade similarly manipulated through fire. Sasuke shifts the Sharingan into the Mangekyo, and draws him away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The general consensus seems to be "I don't care, just write something." I love you guys.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People die, and Sasuke grows up.

Once, when Sasuke was twelve, a boy masquerading as a hunter-nin asked her, “Are you willing to die for your team?”

In less than a month, Sasuke will be sixteen. At nearly sixteen, she can die for her team in whatever form they take. She can die for her village. But loyalty to her team and to Konoha doesn’t force her into feeling inherent remorse when she and Kai shove through the ANBU headquarters’ back doors into the battle in the courtyard to kill their leader. Behind them, the corridor is dark, lights shattered by a fight and floor broken by twisted wood steadily burning, walls coated in needles and scorched with lightning strikes. Past the doors, summertime sunlight lights the outer training field brighter than a spotlight, so that Shimura-san’s stolen eye is on open display for his semi-circle of opponents. 

Destabilizing the ANBU might ruin the war effort, but one of Sasuke’s lightning needles tore the bandage from his face, and she can’t pretend he deserves anything less than this.

For the first five minutes of the fight, Sasuke and Kai went against their leader like gnats, attacking sparingly, until they forced him out in the backlot. Outside is a seven man crowd constructed from Konoha’s elite, Riku at the front it, swinging a kunai around his finger with his black hair still soap slick from an aborted shower. “I thought you didn’t want a leadership change, Captain,” he says as she can Kai stand, recovering from their slid beneath Sai’s ink bird. 

Though Sasuke never had a defensive plan in place, it certainly seems like the rest of them did.

“Oh, you know me,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ear. She has her left eye closed, attempting to avoid the Rinnegan expending her energy too early. “I improvise—excuse me?”

Yamato, who she’s never spoken to beyond “hello, how are you,” counteracts Shimura’s wood attack with one of his own, only to have the spire pass through him, harmless. “Did that just—” Yamato starts, too shocked to move, cut off abruptly when Ichiro, one of Itachi’s old teammates, slams him in the side and out of the way of their leader’s next strike. 

“I hadn’t thought so many of you would betray me,” Shimura says, sighing. The sunlight turns him ageless, even as his wrinkles catch the sunlight’s shadows, creating the illusion of someone indestructible. “I think we should all sit and talk this over before you do something you—”

Before he can finish, Riku, Ichiro, and Keiko move into a simultaneously attack of wind and fire. Already, the dark green grass is torn from the earth or drowned out or burned to ash in long streaks.  

This fight is ten against one, but Sasuke and her two teammates are all weak from sleeplessness and accelerated travel. Worse yet, she burned into her memory years ago all possible Mangekyo Sharingan techniques, and even before that, watched Shisui practice with his own for most of her childhood after his mother died; she knows Izanagi wasn’t something he could do. Even more than that, it’s taboo. Inevitably, Shimura has a second Sharingan hidden away, in working condition, and perverted it. 

She glances at Kai, whose arms are littered with splinters, and then to Sai scribbling furiously, his shoulders slumped from exhaustion but arms shaking from adrenaline, and says, “We’re defense. The rest of you are offense. He’ll wear out fast.”

In the short few seconds it takes for her to give orders, Mami, a member of the Nara clan, hits against the fence hard enough that she audibly breaks a bone. Sayaka, the only medic present, is there in an instant, checking her over, a glowing hand over her knee. 

Then his sling slips, courtesy of one of Yamato’s wooden spires growing from behind, revealing a twisted arm off-colored, covered in eyes. Sasuke reacts, unthinking, releasing Amaterasu to grow right there on his hand. It spreads his skin in the aftermath of another Izanagi, until a tree forms, beginning with his elbow and rooting into the ground, forcing the other ANBU away. Amaterasu sticks to its bark, persistent. Its part of him, she realizes, growing larger, pushing towards him, flames becoming hotter and spreading closer.

She snuffs them out as he severs the arm at the shoulder, and the tree’s growth halts with only two branches fully formed, lilting listlessly towards the earth.

Blood flows freely from his shoulder and eye. The others move in for a joint strike, a mix of family jutsu, specialty techniques, and nature transformations in defense of ANBU integrity. Quicker than any of them, quick as Shisui, he creates the seals one handed for a Shunshin. Sasuke, seeing this in a way the others can’t, prepares for a counterattack, assuming he’ll go for her. Instead, he appears in front of Sai, leaving everyone to fall into a mess of friendly fire. 

Before Shimura can push his wind-formed blade too deeply into his newest recruit’s chest, Sasuke comes between them, both eyes open and hands on his shirt front. Sai gasps—and she drags their leader into another dimension, only to push him out, alone, moment later, estimating direction and distance, in what should be the epicenter of the joint assault. If she’s right, then those attacks will only connect with him. 

For a moment, she lies stationary on her back, breathing in burning evergreen wood smoke from a nearby fire, the rock-littered grass leaving her clothes and skin damp. It’s night. The constellations are unfamiliar. Above her, a hot breeze moves through white branches laden with green leaves. A strange animal chatters. With her eyes activated on their lowest form, she can see an owl swoop past. Somewhere not far away, humans talk and laugh with civilian carelessness, loud from drunkenness. The pain in her shoulder is acute. A wind blade isn’t solid like a real one, so she absorbed some of the hit. She needs about two days’ sleep, and very long shower. 

She sits up, shifts her eyes back to their highest power, and reenters her world to find she put Shimura just shy of the target.

Most of the attacks connected, and he likely wouldn’t have survived the strain of a dimensional shift anyway, but Yamato’s wood spire sliced into the side of Riku’s leg, and several of the shuriken he threw in a volley caught Keiko in the back. Sayaka is working on Sai, who’s the worst, away from the rest of them by the fence. Kai sits curled against the headquarters’ back wall, legs to her chest and head dropped between her knees, breathing deeply to keep from fainting. Everyone else is hurt one way or another, but Shimura Danzo is the only one dead. Shisui’s Sharingan is destroyed, burned away from a fire attack. 

“He was here,” Naoko says, pointing to Shimura, when she notices Sasuke sinking to the ground beside Kai. There’s a burn on her arm. Her tight brown curls are a tangled mess, resembling a bird’s nest carelessly built. “And then he was there, and then he wasn’t anywhere, and then he was here again. Sasuke, what just happened?”

Slowly, Sasuke’s vision blurs, so Naoko’s sharp features and Shimura’s broken, bloody body lose their clarity. “The Rinnegan’s weird,” she answers, pressing her hand over it in an attempt to lessen the pain. “Sayaka, how’re you doing?”

“Well, Sai’ll live,” she says from Sasuke’s left, moving from her blind spot into view, though she’s just as featureless as everyone else. “Mami’s healed enough that she’ll be fine in a couple weeks, but she out cold unfortunately. Is it just your shoulder?” When Sasuke nods, Sayaka continues, “Great. Keiko, stop moving for five minutes. I’ll get you next. Then Sasuke, then Kai. I can’t completely get anyone.”

Though Sasuke’s depleted her energy dangerously, she’s high on anxiety and post-battle adrenaline, and forces the Sharingan back in its mild form. “Show me the basics,” she says, drawing their attention away from Sayaka. “I’ll help.” 

After Sayaka argues halfheartedly that even the basics are deadly in this state, she agrees. “You’re fucking suicidal,” she says, but Sasuke ignores her, and heals her wounds until they’re superficial.

For a while, they’re all quiet, until Keiko says, “So Shimura-san and the majority of the senior Captains are all dead. Now what?”

However unofficially, Shimura’s successor was meant to be Nori _.  _ “Vote’s going to have to go the Godaime, I thought,” she says as Sayaka drops next to Kai, moving her short hair away from the injury to inspect the damage. “Naoko, get over here.”

Dutifully, Naoko settles cross-legged beside Sasuke and takes her hand, hissing when it touches the burn. Though it’s a struggle, Sasuke focuses, moves away to go through the hand seals, and heals the best she can. It’ll scar, but it’s good enough that it won’t be infected.

“It is,” Yamato says as she does. Silently, Sayaka heals Kai’s concussion, and then tears off fabric from her shirt to bandage what remains before falling onto her back, eyes half closed and breathing heavily. “The vote, I mean. Um. Okay. Until we can bring it to her, we’ll just make the decisions together. Complete transparency. Which means, did anyone other than us know the three of you were here, and why are you here?”

Sasuke’s wound throbs. There’s a difference between liars and people who lie, and all ANBU are solidly the former. “He was supposed to be the only one who knew,” she says as Kai, with one last, deep breath, shifts and sits straight. Finally, her eyes are focused as she looks around, which is last observation Sasuke has before she allows her Sharingan again to fade. “How long can we get away without telling anyone he’s dead?”

“Honestly?” Ichiro says from a few feet away, still winded. “I’ve been heading Konoha’s defense. He’s disappeared for days a few times to check out the eastern front without telling more than us. Mami and Keiko are usually there—Team Eagle.”

Bluntly, Kai explains about Hitomi and her integration in Kiri. “We’ve got the plans to the city in Sai’s bag downstairs,” she finishes. “Sayaka, you dealt with the concussion. I’m good with the rest. We have to clear away this mess and blame someone.”

Sai, nearer than before, says, “You’re suggesting we lie about self defense?”

“We’re going to do a lot more than lie, kid,” Riku says as Sasuke’s vision fizzles out completely. “I think we can get away with blaming ambiguous ‘enemies.’ Keiko, when’re you set to return to the front?”

“Three days from now,” she says from somewhere to Sasuke right, voice moving as she walks away. “But, you know, if me and Mami  _ happen  _ to find his body on the way there, two days in, then we’ll have to carry him back manually, and that’ll take what? Another three days? About eight days in total. If we plant the body so someone else discovers it, then that’ll buy more time, but it’s more of a risk. There’s always the chance of a Kiri or Iwa-nin finding him.”

“If we get caught,” Sasuke says, heart rate jumping as she realizes the implication of this, panic edging into her voice nearly as bad as Sai’s, “we’re all going to T&I for treason. I  _ could  _ just hide his body.”

“They’ll assume kidnapping,” Yamato says. “It’s safer to tie up loose ends. He’s dead. We don’t know who did it, but he’s dead. How do you keep in contact with Hitomi?”

“We have the same Summon,” Kai says. “It’s pretty easy to communicate through racoons. Anything else I’m telling her besides, you know, this?”

There’s a long pause before Ichiro says, “Tell her to get into Kiri and finds the village plans, though I guess those might be in Mitsutoshi. If we do a dual strike on Mitsutoshi and Kiri, just ANBU—”

“We can damage Kiri irreparably,” Riku says. 

“As long as no one,” Yamato says, “even within Konoha, realizes we did it. So the three of you are leaving. Go find Team Kakashi. Get Sasuke’s eyes healed. The rest of us will clean this up, then meet back with you guys at the Land of Water’s west coast. Bring Itachi.”

Itachi’s going to kill me, Sasuke thinks, and forces herself onto her feet, using the wall as support. “They aren’t ANBU,” she says, failing in her attempt to activate her Rinnegan at a low level as she did earlier in the day just in effort to see, “but I can get Team Kakashi on board. We need real bandages before we leave.”

When she takes a step forward, she slips, shaking on her legs, but Sai catches her, wrapping her uninjured arm around his shoulders. Kai breathes out, pained. Only a few feet away, Shimura lies dead, and past him lies Mami, unconscious but breathing. As Sayaka says to follow her inside, and mind where they step now, Yamato orders Naoko to sink that tree into the ground, and for Keiko to burn the rest of the evidence. By the time he says what to do with the body, the back door shuts with a bang, and Sai leads Sasuke blindly down the broken stairs. 

 

 

Team Kakashi is at the border of the Land of Fire and the old Land of Sound, not far into Oto-nin territory. In a single day of stumbling, rushed travel quickened by Shunshin that bleed Team Fox dry, Sasuke and her teammates make it as far as Hisamura, the final village before the Valley of the End. 

When they arrive at the lone hostel, the owner, a man with a young sounding voice, hands them the keys without expecting a deposit or payment. “I don’t know which way you three are going,” he says when he folds the key into Sasuke’s hand, “but I’m taking a guess on what you are. The room’s a six person. It’s empty. I’ll keep it that way. You’ve got until tomorrow night.” Then he adds that the shower’s the second door downstairs on the right, and the ditsy girl with the green hair in Room 5 left her shampoo there, should they be wondering.

Later, when they’re all clean and bandaged freshly and wrapped in scratchy wool blankets with only their undergarments on underneath, they lay together on the floor, staring at the mural of the sky someone drew in chalk over the ceiling. By now, Sasuke has just enough energy to activate the Sharingan, and records every imperfect, uneven line and brightly colored sunset cloud to memory. Though Sai isn’t sleeping, he breathes as though he is, deep and even. Kai’s hair, barely toweled, leaves a damp spot on the carpet. The shock of what they’ve done has finally settled.

Kai says it first, a laugh erupting from the silence, growing louder until quieting to giggles. “Well, damn,” she says to the chalk sky. “He was a murdering thief. How often did he fuck with us that I feel bad about this?”

The thought hadn’t occurred to Sasuke yet—if Shimura-san had used Shisui’s genjutsu earlier. On the others, most likely. It’d doubtful he would risk doing so on her any earlier than this, once she was exhausted.  _ Are you susceptible to genjutsu?  _ the Renewal of Service Form asked. No, she’s not. That can’t be said for the rest of them, not against an illusion as powerful as her cousin’s, or any other that one of those many Sharingan might also have been to create. Having so many shouldn’t be possible, especially for someone not related by blood, and she wonders only vaguely who created the body modifications to create workable implants.

As Sai says, “Frequently, I imagine,” Sasuke sits, suddenly finding it too hard to breathe on her lying down, because she realizes the only one with the knowledge to do that was  _ Orochimaru _ . The blanket at her back slips her waist. When Kai touches her back, she feels the heel of her friend’s palm tilt, unable to sit flat when Sasuke’s shoulder blades protrude the way they do. 

“We all need to get some sleep,” Kai says after a beat, not acknowledging that Sasuke’s a liar who clearly weighs less than the required minimum. “I’ll get inside the Room Five girl’s head tomorrow so she can buy us all clothes. We should’ve grabbed a change before we left.”

Sasuke takes a deep breath, and calms enough to think. “We look more pathetic like this,” she says, but doesn’t disagree, as Sai stands to turn off the light. 

 

 

At sunset the following day, Team Farmland joins Team Kakashi inside the cave hidden in the mouth of Senju Hashirama’s statue. Sakura forces Sasuke onto the stone floor without delay, and slots her hand across her eyes. “This is the worst ever,” she says as the warmth spreads from Sasuke’s eyes through the rest of her body until she’s burning. The touch now reminds her uncomfortably of the day in Suna that Sakura suppressed Orochimaru’s genjutsu. “What did you do this time? Why are you all hurt?”

“Because there were ten people and one medic,” Kai says, disgruntled, from a few feet away. Though Sakura and her cousin are friends, Kai’s never seemed to like her. “Sasuke healed her own shoulder, but that only helped a little.”

“You heal now?” Sakura says as Kakashi asks, for the second time, and Naruto for a third, and Itachi for the first, what happened. The cave smells damp, and the ground is as wet as the grass in the dimension she should have left Shimura to die in. Past the mouth of it, the waterfall rushes down in a roar, the sound deafening.

Sai says, “She copied our medic,” and Kai explains that they undertook an infiltration mission into Mitsutoshi, established Hitomi—or Lion, because Team Kakashi knows the general squad by name, but can’t put those names to their masks—as a trusted Kiri-nin, and plan to launch a dual assault on Kirigakure and the capital. As the team agreed before leaving Konoha, none of them mention Shimura-san, or that they’re all traitors. 

“It was at our own initiative, yeah,” Sasuke says once Sakura finishes, sitting, head reeling from dizziness, “but he made it official. Technically Itachi should be the only one allowed on, but we want to even out the numbers when we’re ready. I don’t think the Godaime knows.”

Expectedly, Sakura says, “Isn’t keeping secrets what almost got you guys in trouble in the first place?”

Before Kai can snap back with a comment about rank superiority, Sai lashes out, hand tight around her wrist to quiet her. Instead, it’s Itachi who frowns and says, “Not all of ANBU can be held accountable. Shimura-san accepted this?” His voice is light, but eyes narrowed, focused on Sasuke. “Who thought of this?”

She pulls her legs loosely to her chest, resting her elbows on her knees. “Lion and I, mainly,” she answers. “He wasn’t happy about it, but it’s not like he had a choice by the time we got there. It was either he go against us, or he agree so he could take the credit.”

“It’s a solid plan,” Kakashi says, and pokes at their fire with a stick so the flames spark, drifting towards the gap in the statue’s mouth. “How long until we have the information?”

Shrugging, Kai says, “Soon. Maybe. She’ll get in contact with me. Sasuke reaches out to the rest of them. Itachi will have to help. Crows are indigenous to, like, everywhere.”

“So only ANBU knows?” Naruto says, looking to Sasuke. “There are a ton of really awesome jounin. Why can’t the Godaime know? Or Jiraiya? He’s the best.”

Sasuke schools her expression. “Because Shimura-san’s likes keeping secrets, I guess,” she says, and Sai adds, under his breath, that it must make him feel special. Of all of them, their leader’s betrayal and subsequent death affected him the most. “Yeah. That. It’s also a good idea to keep the attack forces small. So we’re not telling anyone past you. Yet.”

With his frown still firmly in place, Itachi says, “I assume Lion is as good at accent imitation as she was when we last worked together?” Sasuke nods. “Which other team is involved?”

“All of ours, so including Sparrow and Rooster,” Kai says, tucking her hair behind her ears, away from her face. “Deer—he heads the base of operates on the home front. He had to know. Marten. Again, he’s pretty important. He’s unofficially next in line now that Monkey’s dead. Salamander and Orca. They’re both part of Team Eagle, so the best scouts we have. The rest of Team Eagle is still on the eastern front. Crane’s the last one. We needed a medic.”

“That’s only seven people,” Kakashi says, tugging at his mask, pulling it further up his face. “Are you conscripting us to have seven and seven?”

“We require an outside party for both villages,” Sai says. “It will be five and five.”

For a moment, Team Kakashi says nothing, so Team Fox stays silent. Then Naruto says, “We’re so all going to die,” like it’s a certainty.

Entirely too seriously, Sai says, “At least some, yes.”

As Kai sighs, Sasuke’s eyes contact with Kakashi’s, and she thinks that regardless of what it takes, she won’t let this team die. 

 

 

A week and a day later, Tachibana Setsu, Koizuma Kita, and a crew of other Kiri-nin traitors assassinate the Mizukage and her guards at half past two in the morning. The secondary defense force breaks through their Kage’s bedroom door just in time to see the five assailants disappear into thin air. 

Sasuke, in her pain and distraction and the strain of carrying four other people through a dimension rift, missteps, and walks them into the bottom of a sea. In the moment it happens, they’re all breathing, and the water fills her lungs too fast for her to hold her breath. The pressure is so strong she thinks she might crumble into herself, into nothing. Through the panic, she scrambles to keep a hold of Sakura and Kakashi as they all begin to drift apart, and pictures where she brought Shimura-san. Her right eye bleeds, the largest whale she’s ever seen drifts overhead, and they fade. 

When they reappear, Sasuke falls, rolling across hot desert sand. She sputters, heaving, and coughs until her lungs are free of water. Its early morning, and the stretch of desert is empty, but past a low hill she sees the telltale glow of electric lights from a populated area. “We need to go,” she says, forcing herself to her feet, though her legs are shaking and Sakura hasn’t had the time to heal any of the injuries she sustained in the fights. All of them are roughly in the same state. No one warned them that the Mizukage had corrosive breath. 

A hot gust sweeps across the desert, blowing sand into the acid burns on Sasuke’s legs. Several feet away, Kai hisses, then presses her hand to her mouth, and throws up ocean water. There’s blood trickling from her right ear. 

“Which direction are they?” Sakura asks, her voice hoarse. Her shirt’s half burned away, the new, frayed hemline caught in her wound. 

Outside the Kiri barrier, Naruto and Itachi act as watchmen and damage control. Naruto is the worst liar, and doesn’t have the credentials to participate on an assassination mission regardless of how unofficial this is, and Itachi and Sasuke can communicate with one another easily through Yaya. When the Kiri-nin branch outside their barrier to search for the fleeing traitors, Naruto and Itachi can handle them, but it’s safer if they’re all together. 

Sasuke takes a deep breath, coughs, and nods. “We’re not that far from the barrier,” she says. She doesn’t sound any better than her friend. “Come on.”

Together, stumbling, the five of them walk away from the lights into the pale desert sunrise that turns the sand gold and silver, as though she brought them into the Land of the Wind. The air smells funny—almost poisonous. In the distance, something rattles and thumps against hard packed ground at odd intervals. Desert plants cast shadows across the sand. A rabbit with abnormally large ears hops past, so shocking in appearance that they all stop to watch it until it disappears around a rocky crag speckled with dead juniper trees. 

“Where the fuck did you take us?” Kakashi says, shaking his head, so Sasuke shrugs. 

“I’ve been here before,” she says. “Just, you know. Closer to Konoha. It didn’t look like this.”

Half an hour later, they reach a safe enough distance outside the barrier, and the only other wildlife they’ve seen is an oversized vulture circling overhead. She reactivates her Rinnegan and Mangkeyo Sharingan, motions for them to huddle together, and takes them back into a summer thunderstorm, less than a mile from a village on high alert. 

 

 

The old house still reeks of cigarette smoke and barley alcohol, though whoever lived here is long gone. But the owner and his wife left their sake and their whiskey, Teams Fox and Kakashi find quickly, so Kai pours them all generous helpings in dusty glasses and distributes accordingly.

“So what now?” Sakura says after she finishes half her glass in one drink, grimacing at the taste. They’re clustered in a master’s bedroom decorated with pictures of an unhappy wife and smiling husband, with their large bed in the center of the room unmade but the sheets and blankets neatly folded beside it. “The Mizukage’s dead. What does that mean for the war? Do you think Shimura-san will tell Tsunade-sama?”

“I think he’ll need to,” Itachi says, whiskey untouched on bench at the foot of the bed as Sasuke pours herself a second glass. 

By now, her number of kills is nearing the hundreds, and her mission success rate is one hundred percent, but assassinating the Mizukage affected her in a way she hadn’t expected. Maybe it’s the deception involved, or that she assisted in assassinating Shimura-san just a week and a half earlier, or that she almost killed her team more effectively than anyone in Kiri—but her adrenaline isn’t fading the way it’s meant to after a day like this. 

Kakashi says, “I doubt the war will end,” and explains about Iwa having its own agenda and the Prime Minister and next Mizukage likely using Kiri’s aggressors as a rallying cry to keep the country from falling back into civil war. “Even so,” he says, glancing at Sasuke, who sits cross-legged across from him and taps her fingers against her knee, “a dual assassination is damaging to morale, and to Kiri’s stability.”

For a while, they sit and discuss the the northern and eastern fronts, and whether or not Konoha and Kumo can launch a direct assault while Kiri’s weak. Sasuke finishes her second drink, and doesn’t stop Kai from pouring her a third from a new bottle, a clay jug with a cork wound in twine pushed in. It’s as clear as sake, and harsher than anything found in Suna. 

She takes one sip, stops, and makes the bed instead. 

Though they need to draw up a watch schedule, no one offers, and it isn’t long before Naruto and Sakura collapse into the newly made bed, and Itachi falls asleep against the bench, his forehead resting against his folded arms like a student in the Academy. Kai and Sai eventually drift off on the floor, midway through a conversation about how desperately he needs to meet her cousin. Kakashi disappears, in that way of  his. After a while of trying to sleep, Sasuke leaves her place at Sakura’s side, and creeps downstairs, across the living room, and out on the back porch. 

It’s screened in with tight bug netting meant to keep away the mosquitoes threatening disease, and furnished in worn, white wicker chairs suspended from the ceiling. Outside, the rainstorm continues, battering against the netting and thudding like an army’s steady march across the porch’s wooden roof. In the wall beside the doorway to the main house, someone carved a prayer for a loving home. The engraving is even older than the furniture. 

There’s a stack of books under the coffee table, which has a bottom shelf, she sees when she turns around again. After a moment of deliberation, she selects the thickest one, curls up on the arm chair’s thin, moth-eaten cushions, and activates her Sharingan at its lowest stage to spend her night reading children’s fairy tales in the dark. 

 

 

On the second day, Team Lion is reunited in the unhappily married couple’s liquor stacked house with the news that the Konoha-nin on the eastern front have already overwhelmed the Kiri-nin and entered the Land of Water. Hitomi explains this all calmly, and when she finishes, says, “We need to get back immediately. This whole area is about to be the new eastern front.” She’s still dressed in a Kiri guard uniform, the somber greys and blacks impractical for any terrain other than this. Despite Naruto and Sai’s prediction, the Mitsutoshi team is also intact.

Returning home involves another week of travel, where they find that two unsuspecting chuunin discovered Shimura Danzo dead, and his memorial service and funeral were yesterday. No one pretends to be upset. Even Sai is too genuinely exhausted by the time the Godaime summons them all to her office. 

The sake bottle on her desk is empty without a glass nearby. “Did Shimura Danzo give his explicit permission for this mission to take place?” she asks once the thirteen of them are settled in a line. At the end, Sakura shifts and looks down at her feet. When Sasuke and Hitomi confirm that he did, the Godaime says, “All right. How did Team Kakashi get involved?”

“I needed a medic, Godaime-sama,” Sasuke says, and shrugs. “Getting in and out of the Mizukage’s tower required the Rinnegan, and the Rinnegan requires a support system. It made the most sense.”

Though the Godaime still seems skeptical, with one eyebrow raised and looking to each of them individually for a lingering moment, she ends her questioning there. “Well,” she says instead, pressing her fingers together. “Kiri doesn’t know what to do with itself, but Iwa’s strengthening its borders. Sasuke, the Kazekage wants you. Sakura, Shizune’s heading the southern front’s hospital, so I need you here. Naruto, Kakashi—I can’t have you near Kiri for a while, so you’re going down there to defend the Land of Waves. The rest of you are staying in Konoha to elect the ANBU a new leader. Sasuke, I need a minute alone before you leave to get your vote.”

Regardless of what they vote, the Godaime can overrule it, but collecting them is a formality, Yamato explained. He’s been there approximately the longest now, and once Sasuke is alone with the Godaime, she casts her vote for him. “The numbers didn’t work,” she adds before the Godaime can begin the inevitable reprimand and possible accusation. “We really wanted to pull the rest of Team Eagle, but it wasn’t safe withdrawing them, and Team Kakashi is the most competent party of non-ANBU jounin at the moment. Every other ANBU team was occupied.”

“Team Kakashi knowing breaks about every protocol there is,” the Godaime says, sighing. She’s dressed in her ceremonial robes, though Shimura-san’s memorial service was last night. Like Sasuke, she doesn’t seem to have slept in a while. “But that doesn’t matter as much as it should. We’re having this talk because I don’t think you’ll be back in Konoha’s walls until this war ends, so we need to see how that’s going to work. Take a seat.”

Sasuke takes a seat in the chair across from her, which is better padded than the unhappily married couple’s patio furniture. “I don’t understand,” she says, wary. “Can’t it just stay the way that it has been? Both sides requesting me for missions?”

“To a point,” the Godaime says. “Even so, the focus of the war’s changed. You practically destroyed it on the east, so it’s going to be concentrated closer to Suna. You’re right about needing a medic, so you will periodically need to see Sakura. Other than that, I’m limiting your involvement with Team Kakashi. Your Konoha missions will be as strictly ANBU as I can manage. If we’re only getting you part-time, then you’re getting top priority. S-and A-ranked missions only.”

“My team won’t be happy about that,” she says, but understands, because the Rinnegan is too valuable to use on any mission less important than killing a Kage.

Shrugging, the Godaime says, “They’ll live with it.” Then, after a short pause, she continues, “I know Sakura told you how I handled the genjutsu. That’s why I didn’t want you going to Suna. You need to let them know you have panic attacks.”

Though Sasuke knows the Godaime is right, the thought of telling Gaara she might kill his brother and sister because she has flashbacks is unappealing. “That’s it?” Sasuke says, leaning back into the chair, arms across her chest. “No comment about needing a guarantee I’ll return here or something?”

“This village is your family’s legacy,” the Godaime says, not reacting to Sasuke’s rudeness. She hasn’t bothered to be polite in a while. “It took me a long time to really understand what that meant. I ran away before I did. What I did was never meant to hurt you, Sasuke, but I didn’t have all the facts. I didn’t know reversing the genjutsu would confuse you. I’m sorry—for all of it. Some distance might do you some good.”

For a moment, Sasuke’s quiet, processing it. Eventually, she says, “I accept your apology for the genjutsu. You can’t be held responsible for the rest when you weren’t even here.”

“Maybe not,” the Godaime says, “but I’m the Hokage, you’re a few days away from sixteen, and it’s not like anyone else is going to say it.” The mid-afternoon sunlight catches her chair and the desk and all the objects on top of it, throwing long shadows across the floors and walls. Sighing, she caps the empty sake bottle and slips it into her desk, and says, “Now, as your medic instead of your Hokage, I’m going to give you some advice you won’t like. Bring your psych eval from Kaoru. Fuck anyone who thinks getting help is shameful—you need it.”

“Yeah,” Sasuke says blandly. “I think I get that.”

Sometimes she can sleep for days, and sometimes she goes days without sleeping at all. If she’s honest with herself, she would have panicked against the Oto-nin regardless of whether or the Godaime reversed the genjutsu. Her behavior’s been erratic since long before September. With the war continuing and no end in sight, she finally acknowledges that she can’t ignore the effects of this anymore.

The Godaime pulls a file with Sasuke’s name neatly written on the flap from her desk, clearly prepared. “Maybe read it over yourself,” she says as she slides it over. “You might understand what’s happening to you a little better.” Then she adds that she removed the third page, because Suna doesn’t need to know Kaoru requested Sasuke be removed from active duty altogether. 

Leaving Konoha doesn’t feel the way Sasuke imagined, when she bothered to think of it all during the earliest hours of her sleepless nights. The Godaime moves the subject back to the logistics of her involvement with the ANBU while she’s living in Suna, and Sasuke fidgets, running her nail beneath the folder’s corner. Though she doesn’t know if she wants to understand herself better, she thinks she might have to if she going to live to seventeen. 

 

 

“Apparently I have post-traumatic stress,” Sasuke says several hours later when Sakura returns from inspecting the hospital to find her reading her medical file on the living room futon. “I’m also ‘depressed,’ with a ‘mood disorder’ caused by purposeful repression of traumatic childhood events. Supposedly it might also be hereditary, but it’s not like anyone can prove that.”

Sakura takes a seat at the end of the futon, at Sasuke’s feet, and undoes her ponytail holder. “I could’ve told you that,” she says, fluffing her hair with her fingers. It’s late, and the string lights turn the pink almost red. “The mood disorder’s what fucks with your sleeping habits. Well, depression can do that too, but you’re like clockwork. Anything not obvious?”

In the beginning of the file, replacing the missing page three, is a copy of the psychological report on Sasuke’s Renewal of Service form. She skips past that, and says, “Well, she suspects I actually developed my Sharingan when I was seven and forgot about it. I’ll have to ask Itachi. I guess it makes sense. She also says I shouldn’t been allowed on undercover missions because I’m ‘incapable of coping with potential spontaneity,’ and that my ‘inability to acknowledge my trauma, both from my childhood and from my recent time as an enemy prisoner, is the effect of the socially accepted belief that a stunted emotional growth is a better alternative than suicide prevention.’ She was really pissed off when she wrote this.”

At the end is the test Sasuke filled out during her first meeting with Kaoru in late September. For the first time, she sees the results—she scored high for potential suicide. That’s why Sakura and the Godaime were allowed to know the basic outcomes, as her medics. Patient confidentiality fails when the patient is considered a safety risk.

Sakura pats her right ankle where it rests over her left before adjusting herself, sitting longways across the couch in mirrored position so her feet rest near Sasuke’s waist. “Three years back the psychologists in the hospital wrote up a petition,” Sakura says, curling her hands in her lap. “You know, for permission to reform the whole system. They wanted mandatory counseling in the Academy and civilian schools. The Council shot it down. The Godaime told me. She wants to reopen the inquiry.”

“Good for her,” Sasuke says, only slightly sarcastic, as she shuts the file. “Just don’t let her call it another Uchiha Act. The Uchiha Act of 93 already deserves a name change.” When the Council passed the Uchiha Act of 93, Sasuke didn’t have much awareness of it, and didn’t read up on what it entailed until the few hours she had left in Konoha her last official time her. It strengthened Academy graduation requirements, placed age restrictions in the ANBU, and put in place the mental health assessment on shinobi service forms. “Whatever,” she says, and knocks her knee against Sakura’s. “Can you help me cut my hair? I’m not going to the desert with it this long.”

With a small smile, Sakura says, “Don’t worry. I promised I’d never let you leave the apartment with it uneven, didn’t I?”

Last time Sasuke cut her hair, she did it in a rush with a kunai over the bathroom sink, and hadn’t noticed one side was shorter than the other until Sakura asked if it was intentional. “Great,” Sasuke says, turning around to place the folder on the end table. Finally, their apartment is just theirs again, both Kakashi and Naruto’s recently rebuilt with only a six percent raise in rent each. “Temari has nothing on you when it comes to hair. I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”

“Well, obviously you just have to come back,” Sakura says, but her bottom lip quivers. Sasuke hadn’t realized how that would sound until after she said it. “Look, I know things haven’t been great, but—you’re my best friend, right? And, I mean,  _ really.  _ Ino says all the time that I’m like her sister and this really isn’t fair, but you’re the one I consider like family. I love you.”

“Hey, we’re still going to see each other,” she says, and feels her cheeks flush. “I—you’re my best friend, too. Yeah, like a sister. I’m not going to just abandon you.” She loves Sakura in a similar way that she loves Itachi, which is the only form of love she thinks she can manage, but she doesn’t know how to articulate what that means. Even when she didn’t feel safe in Konoha, she’s always felt safe with her team. That might be why they fight so often.

After a moment, Sakura inches forward, folding her knees, and when Sasuke sits straight, wraps her in a hug. “Take better care of yourself,” Sakura says when Sasuke returns the hug, and tells her again to come back home. 


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exit stage left.

Itachi visits around dinnertime, after the first round of voting, and after Sakura’s returned to the hospital for the night shift. “This is from Kakashi,” he says, tossing a soft parcel in her hands wrapped in tissue paper. There’s a second bundle still tucked beneath his arm. “He claims that everyone needs to remember their mistakes.”

When she tugs the twine, and the paper falls open, she’s holding a pair of pale blue, summer pajamas decorated in small grey whales. “What a jerk,” she says, but smiles. There’s a square piece of paper on top with  _ Happy 16th  _ scribbled across it. “Where is he? How did voting go?”

“Yamato will be leader before the week is up,” her brother answers, leaning against the moulding of her bedroom door. There’s a lot they need to talk about, like what it means for her to leave, but she doesn’t know how to broach the subject. “Everyone knows it. Kakashi is getting permission to walk you halfway to Suna. Before you ask, I believe Naruto is contending with Jiraiya’s words of wisdoms before leaving for the front at the moment.”

“Well, then pity for him,” she says as she packs the pajamas in her bag. 

She doesn’t need much; a change of clothes for the journey there, her unexpected birthday gifts, and the anpan buns from the bakery around the corner that she promised Temari are enough. In the front pocket of her pack, she has her psych evaluation and two photographs—one of her family, her parents and Itachi and even Shisui, from not long before the massacre, and another of she and her team from right a few months earlier, taken by Kurenai in a mock-up imitation of the gennin portrait. None of them are officially dressed. Kakashi’s mask is slipping, Sakura’s hair’s done back in a white-and-blue checkered bow, and Naruto’s jacket has a hole in the collar’s stitches. Sasuke’s the downfall of the photo, looking away from the camera and her sleeve slipping off one shoulder, but she’s not what’s important. 

As she zips her bag, careful not to catch the pajamas’ fabric, Itachi says, “Are you okay with this? Leaving?”

Sometimes she forgets—almost willingly—that she and her brother only know each other in bits and pieces. “Yeah,” she says, shrugging. “It’s not like I’m on loan or anything. It wouldn’t really be fair if I back out from where the fight’s concentrated now, you know?”

“I suppose,” he says, the carefulness in his tone obvious. The shirt he’s wearing is too big, and hangs loosely off his frame so he looks sick again. “I guess the situation is still odd to me.”

“Don’t worry. It’s like that for everyone.”

He shifts his weight, leaning less heavily against the door frame but not coming any closer. More awkwardly than expected, he says, “This is for you. From me,” and hands her the second bundle.

It’s a jacket, unwrapped. For a moment, she doesn’t understand the significance, other than it’s dark blue, and she likes the color. Then she unfurls it, and finds the Uchiha symbol embroidered on the back.

“How,” she starts, and stops. With a deep breath, she asks, “Why?”

“Because you’re sixteen,” he says, shrugging, looking away towards the door latch. “Regardless of where you are, you’ll always be who you are. And to answer your first question, I  _ do  _ know how to sew—though admittedly, I did cut the symbol from one of my old shirts.”

Regardless of whether she’s in Konoha or Suna, she’ll never be less than a Uchiha, but that doesn’t mean her position is permanent. “About that,” she says, lowering the jacket. She understands the gesture, but despite their relationship as siblings, he doesn’t know her well know to get how unnerving she finds it. “This is going to be really obvious, but you’re clan head if I don’t come back. Well, it’s not like I can continue the name anyway, but that’s not the point. I don’t just mean if I die.”

There’s a long silence before her brother says, “I know that you and the Kazekage are...close, but no one will ever accept me. You know that as well as I do.”

“Congratulations,” she says, unzipping her pack again to stuff the jacket inside. “No one was that happy about me either.” Looking over to him again, she says, “You’re a murderer and I’m apparently suicidal. We’re the worst clan in Konoha, Itachi. But this village belongs to our family as much as any Hokage, and you’re better than I am.”

His mouth grows tight. “That’s not true.”

“It really is,” she says, folding her arms. “Anyway, it’s not like I’m guaranteeing I won’t come back. Probably I will, but things happen. They could need me. I might die.”

“You’re a brilliant kunoichi,” he says firmly, unashamedly ignoring the rest. “There won’t be many Iwa-nin who are as skilled you, so there’s no need to exhaust yourself.”

She doesn’t need anyone else telling her to stay safe. “Well, it’s not like you won’t get to check up on me,” she says, running her fingers through her newly cut hair. “I’m still ANBU.” After a short pause, she sighs and adds, “I guess that doesn’t make you feel any better. Look, I know what people think about me, but I didn’t risk T and I getting you back just to die.”

“No, I suppose not,” Itachi says, and looks away, running his fingers down the door frame. “You made sure you had help in killing Shimura Danzo.”

For a long moment, Sasuke doesn’t answer, uncertain what to say. Eventually, she answers, “Seriously? You’re bringing that—It’s not like it was premeditated. Turns out he had Shisui’s eye and was using it to influence people. Kai pretty much flipped. How did you know?”

“He had  _ Shisui’s— _ ”

“Yeah,” she says, and smiles humorlessly. “We did the world a favor.”

Though Itachi was misused worse than she ever was, he’s always been the loyal one, and she hadn’t wanted him to learn what they did. Mentioning it like this rather than letting it lie feels like petty revenge for reminding him he still has potential responsibilities to their family. “I didn’t know,” he says, glancing at her then quickly away again. Kaoru told Sasuke repeatedly eye contact is important. “Not about Shisui. Before—he never revealed who took his Sharingan. No one told me that Shimura’s death was orchestrated. Currently I’m the only one of two at base not involved. I suppose the others grew lax. I overheard Naoko explaining to Hitomi.”

His tone’s accusatory. They told Hitomi, but not him. This isn’t a conversation Sasuke wanted to have before leaving. “No one’s told the Godaime,” she says, “but I’ve spent enough time with her that I can guess she’s already figured it out. Did I develop the Sharingan when I was seven?” By now, this conversation’s grown uncomfortable enough that talk of childhood can’t make it worse. 

Almost as if expecting it, he says, without pause, “Yes. You also knocked my forehead protector off with kunai.”

That explains the jolt of recognition she felt during her chuunin exams preliminaries several years too late. “So that’s why you tried the Tsukuyomi? Because I would’ve  burned it into my memory?” 

He doesn’t answer, which is as affirmative as a verbal confirmation. 

“Someone theorized I developed it back then,” she says, turning away as she remembers her sunglasses are still in her top drawer. “It’s the only reason I’m asking. I’m not apologizing for what I did. Killing him or superseding his orders or anything like that.”

“I’m not expecting you to.”

Though he isn’t expecting an apology, he’s expecting something. She slips the sunglasses on and pushes them up like one of Sakura’s headbands. “I really didn’t mean to get you back just to leave,” she says as the sun dips towards the horizon, lighting the sky in streaks of golds and pinks. “I mean, I’m not kidding when I said I know what people say about me. A lot of people are going to think I did this on purpose.”

“You don’t need to convince me of anything,” Itachi says with a small, sad smile. Suddenly, he looks much older than twenty-one. “This isn’t how I wanted to say goodbye, Sasuke, but I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon. Konoha will never stay away from you for long in a situation like this.”

I went five years feeling almost nothing because of you, she thinks suddenly, looking at him in his too big shirt with his dark hang hanging over his tired blue eyes. The boy in the alley exasperated her apathy, but the Tsukuyomi began it. 

She keeps this to herself, and says instead, “Walk me to Naruto’s?”

Even if her friend’s with Jiraiya, she wants to see him before she leaves. Together, she and Itachi walk through the ever bustling Konoha streets until they reach the seedier side of the village, where Naruto’s building sign is missing a number. Her pack is heavy on her back. It’s dusk now, and the light is pale, and blue, and incredibly sad. 

“You’re my little sister,” Itachi says before she pushes through the door, “and I am so sorry. For everything.”

It’s not all right, so she doesn’t say that, but she tells him she loves him, and lets him kiss her head before they go their separate ways. 

 

 

At nightfall, Naruto walks Sasuke to the village’s main gate. “Admit it,” he says as they turn away from the market square. “You’re only doing this because you think I’m not good enough anymore now that Gaara got Kazekage first.”

“That’s old news,” Sasuke says, pushing up her sleeves. Flowerbeds dot the yards of every house they pass, brightly colored and swaying in the gentle, hot night breeze. “You’re just jealous because I’m a squad leader.”

He releases a breath in a low whistle between his teeth. In the the moonlight, his summertime tan is bleached away, so he appears as pale as she does. “As if,” he says, his exasperation clearly false. “I’m a jounin now, remember? I’ll totally be a squad leader soon.”

“You?” she says, arching a brow. “Never.”

As jounin, he will be a squad leader eventually, and learn in his own time how undesirable that position is. Captains are responsible for their team’s lives. At sixteen with credentials as loose as his—gaps spent training away from the village alone, no prior high ranking missions before the war—he doesn’t have the experience necessary to handle responsibility as anxiety provoking as that. Sasuke still isn’t. Truthfully, she finds, no amount of experience should ever provide a person their age with the qualifications to give others orders. 

That thought comes to her consciously, abruptly, as a dark haired Academy student darts past towards the business district, which is towards the hospital, his pack slung over one shoulder and bouncing against his back. 

Without a glance at the boy, Naruto says, “I’ve got a five year plan all mapped out to become Hokage. You’ll regret doubting my awesome skills.”

“You don’t  _ actually  _ need to be the strongest shinobi, you know,” Sasuke says, tucking her hair behind her hair. It’s frizzing in the heat, overwhelming her from the way it falls across her eyes. “You get that, right? You already proved yourself a few times over. Make smart decisions instead of trying to be the best all the time. You’ll get my vote.”

If she comes back, they both think, but it goes unsaid. 

Instead, Naruto slows his step, looking down at her with those blue, blue eyes that triggered her first fight-induced panic attack. “Where’s this coming from?” he asks, frowning. 

“Because I’m going to see Sakura again pretty soon,” she says, stopping entirely in the middle of the dark, deserted street, “but I have no idea if I’m going to see you before the war ends. Look, Kakashi’s always going to be better than you. Sakura’s always going to be stronger. Itachi’s seriously considered one of the best shinobi alive by, like, every village. Gaara didn’t get to be Kazekage because he’s the best. It’s because he’s good and likeable.”

She hadn’t meant for any of her goodbyes to be this serious, but it’s night now, and her teammate is dappled in moonlight. Though the night is best for hiding, it also, in its own way, strips away any sense of secrecy. Within a week, they might both be dead. Besides, she thinks. Konoha’s dark, deserted streets haven’t held audience to a lighthearted scene in years. The truth is the best she can offer in apology for leaving. 

“I get that,” he says, looking down and scuffing his beat up sneaker against the dirt. In his threadbare, green tshirt and mismatched black cargo shirts, he looks the perfect part of raggedy orphan. “I kind of have for a while.” Glancing up again, he continues, “That’s why you have to come back after the war. Our parents worked together, right? That means we need to. There’s got to be some unwritten rule somewhere about it our moms made up.”

“You’re right,” she says as a cloud covers the moon, turning the world slate grey. “Anyway, it’s getting late. I should probably stop stalling.”

Goodbyes make people touchy, she finds; when she turns back towards the direction of the gate, Naruto drapes his arm around her shoulders. “My coronation will be known as Ramen Day,” he says with an easy smile. “All different kinds of ramens served for the festival. I’ll make it annual. It’ll be great.”

“No, it’ll be the worst day ever,” she says. “You need substitute stalls for ramen haters like Kakashi and me.”

“Or I could brand you all as traitors to the village.”

They bicker about the ethics of food festivals until they reach Konoha’s main gate, progressing slowly. Eventually, she slips her arm across her lower back so they walk close together, pressed snugly into one another so she steady grows afraid of letting go. 

 

 

At the halfway mark between Konoha and Suna, Kakashi and Sasuke set up camp, and sleep without a watch until morning. When they wake at sunrise, the sky’s a dusky periwinkle still edged with grey, the color peeking through the trees. Though there’s no sign of clouds, the air is still and weighted with the sharp smell of ozone. 

Likely, she’ll avoid the promised rainstorm, or at least the worst of it. Kakashi is, doubtfully, so lucky.

Slowly, they break down camp and rid any trace of themselves, barely speaking. Even the trek here was nearly silent. It’s not until their bedrolls are retired and the low fire doused that she says, “If you or any of the others need me, I’ll get there. Even if I’m doing something else.”

Kakashi pauses, crouching in the dirt with his hand in his pack, sorting the coffee tins. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a problem with authority?” he says, twisting to look at her, elbows resting on his knees. By now, the sun’s risen, but the clouds are gathering, so he needs to squint his good against the reflective overcast light. 

“Not to my face,” she says, shrugging. Though she’s only wearing a camisole and shorts, the heat is rising with the sun, turning her skin sticky from the humidity. “But I mean it. The Rinnegan’s pretty good quick fix if you’re ever trouble. You know, when I’m not sending us to the bottom of an ocean.”

“I don’t think Suna would be any happier with you running off than Konoha,” Kakashi says, twisting back to zip the pack. When he stands, lifting it with him, the metal utensils inside jingle. “If you really feel like flaunting orders, go do something else stupid and end this war.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she says, watching his shoulders slump as he slouches, exhausted already after just a few short months fighting. She understands the feeling. 

He smiles, one corner of his mouth quirking up. “Knew I could count on you,” he says, and sighs. “One of my chuunin teammates was your cousin. I’ve told you about him before, back when I told you about Rin. He was terrible—his temperament more like Naruto’s than yours or your brother’s. But he broke rules in the middle of the War because Rin was in trouble. The two of you would’ve liked each other.”

There are too many ghosts in Konoha and in her family, and whether or not she and the dead would appreciate each other’s company is sentimental conjecture. “I wish I’d had the chance to meet him,” she says blandly before adding, “Take care of Naruto and Sakura, okay? Don’t let them martyr themselves or something. Same goes for you.”

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about me,” he says with a dismissive wave. “Martyrdom isn’t really my style. I’ll watch out for the two of them, though. They’re both a little too idealistic, aren’t they?”

“Yeah,” Sasuke says. “How dare they not be cynical.”

“You could do with a little less cynicism,” he says, so she rolls her eyes and leans down, picking up her pack. “Hey, look at me.” When she’s focused on him, he continues, “The same goes for you. If you need me, just send a message. I won’t wait to go through the right channels in getting an official mission this time.”

Though it’s been nearly a year now since the Isobu close to killed her, she and Kakashi never discussed whether or not he received her message. “That’s a dangerous amount of power you’re giving me,” she says. “I can’t promise I won’t abuse it just because I want someone else who can see in the dark.”

Kakashi is the person she thinks of when she needs help, a pattern that’s repeated since she was twelve and first wanted to ask him about what she found on her shrine walls. “That’s all right,” he says “You’ll save me from the monotony of front line fighting.”

“I doubt whatever I’m doing will be any more exciting,” she says, and pauses for a moment before she asks, “So, what? You aren’t going to tell me to come back?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Not really.”

Despite her expectations, he doesn’t provide a reason why he won’t. “I’ll miss your little black storm cloud personality,” he says, slipping his hands in his pockets. “It does become charming after a while. But I’ll be seeing you soon, kid.”

She needs to be in Suna by nightfall, and it’s already past sunrise. Saying goodbye to Kakashi isn’t like farewelling any of the others. “Once winter hits,” she says, “and daylight goes out in the north. I’ll need you, obviously.”

“I never took you for being afraid of the dark,” he says with another tired half-smile. 

Bluntly, she says, “I’m terrified.”

Sometimes, if Sasuke wakes in the middle of the night, she can’t breathe until her eyes adjust. She prefers to fight in the dark because she can use the Sharingan to navigate as much as she likes the surprise advantage. Maybe it’s not a fear she consciously acknowledges, but it’s undoubtedly there. 

Cautiously, he reaches out, and places a hand on her head like he used to when she was younger. “’Til winter, then,” he says, so she echoes him, and imagines the picture of her team is burning in her pocket. 

 

 

A year and a half later, Sasuke is six months into seventeen, the war is crawling towards its end with Konoha and its allies as the predicted victors, and she spends her first night on leave in months sitting on the counter top of a bar in a dress too red for the wet season weather outside. 

“So were were out in this boondocks town,” she’s saying to Gaara, who stands beside her, leaning to the side with his shoulder to wall, and the inevitable small crowd they’ve gathered just by entering the door, “like fifty miles from anywhere interesting, and this theater troupe came, and—”

“You’re not airing my fucking business, are you?” Kankuro says, materializing at Temari’s side, who sits next to Sasuke on the counter, with three drinks perfectly balanced in his hands. Since alcohol is a sedative, Gaara refuses to drink it, which Sasuke thinks is ridiculous now that she’s around to control any unfortunate mishaps. 

As Temari passes Sasuke her sweet cocktail, she says, “You owe us the right to tell this story. Sasuke is doing her duty as a respectable member of the family.”

Kankuro protests vehemently, gesturing precariously with his beer, but Gaara waves his hand, and claims he’s allowed to know about any misadventures, as their brother. Grinning, Sasuke says, “Right. So. We got stuck here for like a week, right? I mean, you should’ve seen this rain. There was no way out—”

“The river that surrounded the town was flooded,” Temari says, for clarification, as Kankuro sighs in defeat. “You  _ all  _ know what kind of town we’re talking about, I’m assuming.”

In the Land of Wind, the towns out near the northern and eastern are so far from government influence that they have little to no infrastructure. As the small crowd calls out in exasperated agreement, Sasuke says, “Anyway, so we went to this play of theirs—something about the Rain Mother and Rain Babies or whatever—and there was this one character. The lonely princess character sought after for her beauty—”

Two girls struggling to fit on one bar stool share a glance and giggle, predicting the end of this story already, as Kankuro groans and buries his head in his hands. Gaara smiles, the upturn of his mouth slight and barely noticeable, but distinct to anyone who knows to look. “And was she?” he asks, raising a brow so the kanji shaped scar on his forehead wrinkles. “Was she a great beauty?”

“Don’t you know, Gaara?” Temari says, bracing herself with her hands and leaning forward to look past Sasuke, who pauses to take a sip. “Anyone is a great beauty if you wrap them in enough pink silk.”

“I’m never buying either of you drinks again,” Kankuro says, as though the bartender ever charges any of them. “You deserve no nice things. Fuckers.”

“And yet you aren’t leaving for the destruction of your dignity,” Sasuke says, placing her drink down beside her. She has her legs crossed at the knees, and her flat shoe hangs loosely from her right foot, threatening to fall. 

Temari knocks their elbows together and shakes her head, moving her long, dirty blonde bangs from her face. “My brother’s a fucking idiot,” he says as Kankuro insists once again that he, in fact, must have been hoodwinked, but doesn’t spoil the end of the story. “Shut up, Kankuro. No one cares about your opinion. So, we saw this performance and it was nothing spectacular, but my brother decided it would be a  _ great  _ idea to woo the princess.”

“There was makeup, guys.  _ Shading. _ ”

“Cheekbone shading aside,” Sasuke says, “Temari and I figured out pretty quick that this was a bad idea, but he insisted, and—”

Before she can finish, a tune floats in from outside, and a moment later, a boy Temari’s age runs in, his clothes drenched through. “Rain stopped,” he says, breathless. Sasuke catches sight of the bar across the street, where someone else stands in that doorway, presumably delivering the same message. “Come on, before it starts again.”

Violent rainstorms in Suna’s winter wet season have short windows where the weather clears before they return full force, so the residents make the best of time they have. Kankuro slams his beer down on the table and swings past his sister, grabbing onto Sasuke and tugging her down. “Let’s go,” he says as she pats down her skirts. “You fucking owe me for—”

Laughing, she says, “Not with that attitude,” before twirling to accept Temari’s outstretched hand and following her friend outside into the growing crowd. 

The party’s gathering energy rapidly, swelling in puddle littered streets beneath an ink black sky blanketed in crisp, clear, silver stars. Mud ruins their shoes and splashes up their legs, dirtying the ends of their dresses as a Saturday night circle forms around the overflowing fountain. Sasuke’s hair falls from its holder when she spins, and is already long lost by the time a girl she recognizes from the grocery store catches her and steals her away from her friend. With the promise of a second onslaught of rain heavy in the cool January air, the understanding that this moment is finite is overbearingly present. 

“I think it’s going to rain again,” says a clear stranger when Sasuke steps outside the fray to join Gaara where he kindly retrieved their drinks from the bar. The man frowns at the sky, his face half-hidden by his wavy brown hair turned to curls from the weather. 

Sasuke drains the cocktail, watered down from the melted ice, and shares a short look with Gaara before they both say, “We know.”

As she sets down her glass, he takes her by the hand to draw her back, and the man tears his gaze from the sky. “Whoa, what?” he says, so they stop just outside the moving ring of people, glancing over their shoulders. “Aren’t you Uchiha Sasuke and—”

“I’m sorry, who?” Gaara says as Sasuke laughs, ruining the effect, and leads him into the circle for a dance. 

Today is a Saturday in mid-January, there’s a war fought fifty miles from the village limits drawing towards its end, and she’s half a year away from eighteen. “No one else is moving,” she says when the storm returns, and the band slows its music, so Gaara logically suggests they return inside. Rain soaks through her thin red dress, darkening it to an auburn brown, and sticks her hair against her neck and face. “Let’s stay here until it gets bad.”

A girl dances with a boy in the desert rain on a Saturday night in mid-January, her shoes in her hand in a belated attempt to save them from ruin. Music plays low beneath the storm like a subconscious thought, and she doesn’t think of the stranger or his wide-eyed recognition again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is so important to me. I worked on it for two years (with several very long hiatuses), and it become something of a stress relief. I taught myself how to write fights scenes, and got over my difficulty writing conflict. Sasuke is a borrowed character, but I worked so hard on her personality and story line she still feels a bit like mine. 
> 
> I know the ending is weak, but I've been very stressed, and I personally believe it's fitting, as she spent most of the story fighting with her identity. You, as readers, can decide yourself whether or not she returns when the war is finished. 
> 
> Thank you for reading. I wouldn't have had the ability to finish without all the comments and encouragement.

**Author's Note:**

> I know the resolution seems fast, but it really isn't going to be. It just didn't make sense that no one would notice.


End file.
